#i've been waiting for a ghost for five years...

[cookilicious-kin]

this is probably going to be the last post i make to this blog but i. never realized what happened to mod soda. i dont know why i never checked their main blog before today but i'm still going to leave this blog up as like... a memorial of sorts to them

[hazedmilk]

CROSS OVER ! - R. SUKUNA X FEM! READER

Pairings - ghost! r. sukuna x fem! reader

summary - your husband—who had now been dead a year, won't cross over, and it's getting harder for him to go to the light. You need to help him finish his business, so he can wait for you in the light. Oh yeah, you can see ghosts by the way.

words - 3.5 k

a/n -art by @/ kcokaine on X

"I'll ruin you," he promised against her neck, voice all sin and shadow. "Slowly."

She should have shoved him away. Said something righteous. But when his mouth ghosted over her collarbone, her only answer was the sound of her breath catching.

"Say stop," he whispered, fangs grazing her skin. "And I'll pretend to be human again."

But she didn't.

She couldn't.

You hummed, quiet and distracted, flipping the page with a soft flick. A calm smile played at your lips — the kind you wore when you were trying not to react. Trying not to feel anything at all.

Flick.

The lamp beside you turned on.

Flick.

It turned off again.

You let out a loud, deliberate sigh, eyes still on the page. "Sukuna."

His voice came from the other side of the room, too casual. Too smug. "So now you decide to talk to me."

You didn't answer right away. Just turned another page. Slow. Measured. You weren't really reading — hadn't been for the last few chapters — but it gave your hands something to do.

"Don't act like I'm doing it for no reason," you said eventually.

Sukuna shifted on the couch, the leather creaking under his weight. He made himself comfortable — because of course he did. Like this was still his house. His life.

"I haven't done anything," he said.

You finally looked over at him.

He was exactly where you'd left him — sprawled out, one arm draped along the back of the couch, the other resting on his knee. He looked like death warmed over, which made sense. Given the circumstances.

"If by 'haven't done anything' you mean 'haven't crossed over,'" you said, "then yeah. You're right. You haven't done a goddamn thing."

He didn't flinch. Just smiled. That lazy, dead-eyed expression he used to wear when he knew he'd already won the argument.

"I like it here."

You sighed. "Well you don't belong here—not anymore."

"Maybe I'm still here because you want me to be."

You stared at the book, unblinking. "That's not how hauntings work."

"It's exactly how they work."

"No, it isn't—I've been seeing ghosts since I was five, Sukuna. I knew what a haunting was long before you died."

"Yeah? Well, I am dead. That makes me the expert now."

You flipped to the next page of your book, the paper sharp between your fingers. "Just... go. You're dead. I didn't ask for that. And I definitely didn't ask for you to stick around and haunt me like some unfinished project."

He didn't leave. Of course he didn't. His voice was smooth, amused, almost fond.

"Still wearing my ring, though."

A pause.

"Not yours. Mine. Wedding and engagement."

You said nothing.

He drifted closer, or maybe you just felt him closer. The air pulled tight.

"Like you don't want to admit I'm gone. Like some part of you wants me to stay."

You shut the book.

"No," you said, carefully. "I'm grieving. I'm furious that you're gone.but I know what's right, that it's your turn to cross over into the light."

He exhaled — not quite a sigh, not quite a scoff. "But I don't want to," he said. "I can't."

You looked at him then. For real. The way the lamplight passed through his outline made him look half-finished, like he was fading already.

"But you can see the light?" you asked quietly.

He nodded, eyes flicking to the corner of the room. "Yeah. Right over there." He pointed to the left. You followed his gaze but saw nothing.

"Then go. Just go." You stood up. "I can't deal with you, not when I know I can't touch you, hold you, nothing! You're just there, like a piece of furniture." You exclaimed.

He chuckled.

Then he stood. Slow. Gentle. The way he never was when he was alive.

"Alright," he said softly. "I'll go. Just... go to sleep."

You tried to smile. You even managed half of one.

He turned toward the corner.

Took one step.

Then another.

And by the third, he was gone.

—

"This one's from the Heian era," you said, lifting the lacquered relic with practiced care. Your fingertips brushed the worn edge, reverent, steady. "Came in just yesterday. Beautiful condition, considering its age."

The woman leaned in, breath catching. "It's... stunning."

You nodded, lips curling into a soft smile. Five years of owning this shop, and that reaction never got old.

It had started after Sukuna. After the vows, after the chaos of loving someone like him — you needed something slower. Something solid. Something with a past that didn't whisper back at you.

Antiques gave you that.

Every item in your shop had already survived centuries. Breakage, loss, war, abandonment — and still, here they were. Still standing.

Much like you.

"I've always had a thing for the past," you added quietly, tracing a worn pattern in the gold. "The stories behind these things. What they've seen. Who they belonged to."

The woman glanced around, caught in the quiet spell of the shop — the soft light, the scent of old paper and polished wood, the air thick with quiet memory.

You placed the piece gently back on the velvet-lined stand and smiled. "So, what do you think? This one... or are you still thinking about the Kaidō-era incense burner?"

She hesitated, eyes flicking between the two — torn, enchanted, almost reverent.

"I'll take the heian piece."

You smiled clasping your hands together. "I'm very pleased!"

She smiled as you tucked the small jar of koso into the paper bag, wrapping it neatly even though you both knew she'd tear it open before she got home. Still, habits like that—soft hands, careful folding—had a way of making you feel human again.

"That'll be... 2,567 yen," you said, voice gentle but detached, like it had been rehearsed a thousand times before.

She didn't flinch at the total, already counting the coins from her purse with practiced ease. Then she placed the money on the counter, each clink of metal unusually loud in the quiet shop.

"Thank you very much," she said, taking the bag. She paused for a heartbeat. "Such a sweet woman."

You gave her a noncommittal hum, more acknowledgment than gratitude. She didn't seem to notice.

The bell above the door jingled as she walked out, the soft chime echoing for a beat too long. Then silence returned, thick and familiar.

You counted the coins again anyway, out of habit. Sorted them into neat piles. Slid the drawer of the till shut. The shop felt colder now. Not physically, but in that subtle way silence sometimes scratches at the back of your mind, just before—

"Hey there."

You screamed.

The sound tore out of you without warning, a raw, startled sound that echoed against the dusty walls. You spun around, breath caught in your chest, stomach already sinking before your eyes even landed on him.

And there he was.

Of course.

Sukuna.

Smirking, hands in the pockets of a coat he wasn't wearing when he died. Standing like the rules of reality had never applied to him.

You frowned, wiping a hand over your face. "Are you actually serious right now?"

He tilted his head, that lazy smirk growing. "Look at my pretty wife, working so hard. Don't you get tired being this adorable all day?"

You stared at him, jaw clenched. "Why haven't you crossed over?"

He shrugged. "Never said I would."

"You did last night! You said you would!"

He looked unconcerned. "I said, 'I'll go.' I never said, 'Yes dear, I'll go cross over for you.'"

"Same thing!"

"Nope." He stepped closer. His voice dropped just a little, almost soft. "I'm not going. I'm not leaving you."

Your hands curled into fists. "You have to go, Sukuna. You can't keep doing this—just showing up like nothing happened. I buried you."

"I know," he said quietly. "I was there, remember? Front row."

"Don't joke."

"I'm not." His expression faltered for a split second—long enough to catch it. "I just don't want to leave. Not yet."

"You have to!" Your voice cracked, sharper than before. "You're dead, Sukuna. This—whatever this is—it's not fair. It's not real. You're not supposed to be here anymore."

He didn't move. Just stood there, watching you fall apart like you always did when he pushed you too far.

You took a shaky breath. "Cross over... or I swear to God, I'll stop loving you. I'll never forgive you for this."

That finally made him blink.

He stepped back, but not far enough. His voice was quiet now. "That won't be the case. You'll always love me. You know that."

"I—" You faltered, words knotted in your throat. "Shut up. Just... shut up and leave me alone."

You turned your back on him, closing your eyes like that might undo it, erase him, pull you back into a world that made sense.

A breath passed. Then another.

He sighed—loud, theatrical, familiar. Like he always did when you won a fight and he let you pretend it was your idea.

"See you later," he said.

And then he was gone.

Again.

Just like always.

—

It had been five days.

Not a long time, really. Barely a blip in the grand stretch of a calendar.

But it mattered.

Because Sukuna hadn't come back.

Five full days of silence. Not just the usual quiet that filled your home when the shop closed and the lights dimmed—this was different. This silence felt unnatural. Hollow. A space where something used to be. Where he used to be.

And maybe... maybe he'd crossed over.

That was good, wasn't it? You told him to go. Begged him, really. Shouted it at him like an ultimatum you never truly meant.

So he listened. And left.

You should be happy. At peace. That's what people say—you helped him move on, as if that's some kind of achievement. As if you're a stronger person for letting go.

But were you really happy?

No. Of course not.

You sat in the silence, waiting. Pretending not to. Convincing yourself you didn't still glance over your shoulder, flinch at the sound of your own breath in the hallway, freeze every time the front door creaked—hoping, stupidly, that it was him.

It'd be selfish to want him back. He was probably at peace now. Maybe even happy, finally. Waiting for you. Watching from the light, like people in books and movies always do.

Still.

Your six-year anniversary was coming up.

That was the part that caught you in the ribs.

You used to joke about it—how he remembered the day down to the hour, even if he pretended to forget. How he'd scowl and roll his eyes when you brought it up, but still always showed up with flowers and your favorite wine. How he'd call you "ridiculously sentimental" while pressing a kiss to your wrist and pulling you close.

But this year, there was nothing.

No knock on the window. No voice behind you. No smirk in the mirror. No ghost.

Just silence.

You sighed and turned toward your mirror, pausing to look at your reflection. The room behind you was still, like it was holding its breath.

You wore the dress. The one he bought you three years ago on a whim because it was "too damn perfect not to." The one you wore when he proposed to you on the rooftop. The one he tugged off later that night, fingers reverent and teasing all at once.

It was the dress you realized you loved him in. Not just loved. Chose him. Completely.

And now, you were wearing it again. Alone.

You didn't even know why you put it on. Maybe you were trying to summon him, like a ritual. Maybe you just needed to feel something other than aching emptiness.

You reached for your bag, fingers trembling slightly as you grabbed your keys.

You knew where you'd go.

~

You stood at the edge of the rooftop, the city stretching out beneath you in dull glimmers and distant noise. The wind pulled gently at your dress, lifting the hem like invisible fingers still curious about you. The night air was cool, but not cold. Comfortable, if not a little lonely.

You set the old boombox down by your foot with a soft thud, the plastic casing scuffed from years of being dragged around—picnics, road trips, impromptu dance parties in your cramped living room. It still worked, barely. The rewind button was jammed and the volume dial crackled if you touched it too fast.

But it worked.

You clicked play.

The opening synth of Hungry Eyes bled into the night, too loud, too romantic, too specific. And perfect.

It was always this song. Always.

You set the bottle of wine beside it—a red, the expensive kind he used to complain about because "no one with working taste buds needs to spend that much on fermented grapes," but he always bought it anyway. The cork popped a little too early. You poured a glass anyway.

Tonight was going to be perfect.

Not in a dramatic, Instagram-worthy, movie-ending kind of way. But your kind of perfect.

You sat on the edge of the rooftop, dress pooling around your hips, heels kicked off somewhere behind you. Your legs dangled off the side like you were sixteen again, like gravity didn't apply as long as you didn't look down.

Your glass trembled slightly in your hand. You blamed the wind.

You looked out over the city. Some couples were probably slow dancing in their kitchens. Some were fighting over whose turn it was to take out the trash. Some were in love. Some were leaving each other.

You were doing none of those things.

Just sitting.

Just listening.

Just waiting.

The chorus hit

You closed your eyes. Let the song wash over you, bubble up all the memories you'd been trying to lock down for five days straight. The dance in your old apartment with the flickering lights.

The way his hand slipped onto your hip, warm and casual, like it belonged there. The grin that split his face when he saw you try to twirl and nearly fell into the bookshelf. The quiet after.

His breath near your ear, and the whisper: "You're it for me, you know that?"

You took a sip of wine. It didn't burn enough.

The city didn't stop for you. No one knew this was the night he asked you to marry him. No one knew what the dress meant, what the song meant, what this rooftop meant.

It was your secret shrine. Your grief. Your anniversary.

You didn't even know if he'd come.

Maybe he wouldn't. Maybe this was the real goodbye, and five days of silence was all you were going to get. Maybe the universe had finally listened to you—for once—and taken him away properly. Permanently.

You wiped your cheek before the tears could fall far enough to be real.

"Happy anniversary," you whispered into the wind.

Your voice sounded too small, too fragile—like it might break apart before the wind could carry it anywhere. But you said it anyway.

And then you waited.

Because no matter how many times you told yourself it was over—

Some quiet, unreasonable part of you still believed he might answer.

Then:

"Thought you'd be here."

You turned at once.

Sukuna.

He stood at the edge of the rooftop, bathed in that soft twilight glow that made everything feel like memory. Like dream. His hands in his pockets, that crooked, knowing smile you hadn't seen in so long.

You stumbled to your feet, breath caught in your throat as you ran to him. "I... I didn't think—"

Your hand hovered near his chest. You wanted to touch him, but the ache of what wasn't real, of what you couldn't hold, was already pulling at your ribs.

But then he reached first.

His fingers curled around yours—solid, warm. Like it used to be.

You looked up at him, disbelieving.

You could touch him, feel him. And he could feel the same.

"I had to give it time," he said quietly, raising your hand to his cheek. "I'm sorry I left like that. But I had to come back for this—for you. For our anniversary. To dance. To see my wife one last time."

Tears blurred your vision. His skin felt real. His voice sounded real. And that made it hurt more.

"Y/n" he murmured, "dance with me?"

You nodded, barely able to breathe, and let him draw you close. One arm around your waist, the other holding your hand. He took the first step, slow and steady, guiding you as if music filled the air—even though there was none. Just the wind, the faint hum of the city below, and the sound of your own trembling breath.

You moved together in silence, his movements careful and sure, yours unsteady at first. But muscle memory, that old rhythm, came back.

He pressed his forehead to yours. "You changed me," he said softly. "I used to be—"

"An asshole," you whispered, a soft laugh breaking through your tears.

He smiled. "Yeah. That. But with you... God, it wasn't even about your body, or what people saw. It was you. The way you looked at me. The way you never backed down, even when I was awful."

You clung to him tighter, swaying with him across the rooftop. It didn't matter that there was no music. You remembered the song from your wedding night. He must have remembered too—because he began to hum it.

It was off-key, low and gravelly, but it made your heart twist in your chest.

"I didn't deserve you," he said, brushing your hair from your face. "But you still gave me everything. And then I died."

More tears fell. He wiped them gently away, his thumb soft against your cheek.

"It wasn't your fault," he said firmly. "The crash, the road—it was me. I was distracted, reckless. But I would've done it all again. I would've driven through storms and fire for you."

"I can't accept that," you choked. "If I hadn't called you... If I hadn't made you come all that way—"

"Don't." He stopped, holding your face between his hands. "Don't carry that. I never blamed you. I never could. You were the reason I lived in the first place. For once, I had something worth everything."

The music in your head swelled again—memories of an old song and an old life. You kept dancing.

His hand pressed to your back, holding you steady, close. Your bodies moved like a memory, the kind that visits just before sleep. He spun you gently, then pulled you back in, arms wrapping around you tightly.

"I would've done anything for you," he said, voice thick. "And that night? It was enough. I had already been given more than I deserved."

You rested your head on his chest, listening for a heartbeat that wasn't there. And still, you swore you could hear it.

He whispered into your hair, "Will you be alright when I go?"

You hesitated. "No one will ever be you. But I'll be alright. I know what's right. You have to go, and I have to stay."

You looked up at him and smiled through your tears. "But you'll wait for me, won't you? You won't find anyone in heaven, right?"

He chuckled low. "Never. Never," he said, eyes shining. "I wouldn't dare."

He spun you once more—slow and tender, the kind of dance made for goodbye. Then he leaned in, brushing your lips with his.

Soft. Familiar. Home.

"I'll be waiting," he said.

And then he stepped back.

The light behind him had grown. It bled gold across the rooftop, casting him in something ethereal and whole.

"It's brighter now," he murmured, looking over his shoulder. "It's... beautiful." He laughed—just once, and it sounded like it used to, rich and full of life.

Then he looked at you one last time.

"Happy anniversary, I love you."

And then—

He was gone.

Not far. Not away.

Just... gone.

But you know he'll wait.

He always will.

And you love him for that.

a/n - watcha think for my first oneshot / post

[cosmic-dust-poltergeist]

Another dp x dc cause why not. Tim is 19 and Jason is 22, and these murderous middle children are hanging out on patrol when the chaotic little shit that is a 16 y/o Danny Fenton crash lands on their roof. He detransformed while flying due to exhaustion.

Danny: Owwww

Jason: Holy shit, kid, are you alright??

Tim: Where did you fall from?

Danny, testing himself for injuries: Eh, I've had worse. Not even top five on my list of crash landings

Jason: That's not helping your case.

Danny, finally looks at the brothers mid getting up: Holy Shit! You're Red Hood and Red Robin! Man, I know so many people who are going to be soooo jealous.

Tim: Even of the crash landing part?

Danny, beaming: Crash landing is, like, the least embarrassing thing I could have done to meet y'all.

Jason: That sounds like a story.

Tim: Also incredibly unsafe. Are you sure you're okay?

Danny, shrugs: Yeah, I'm good. Just tired, probably gonna take a nap soon. Can you point me to the nearest graveyard?

Jason: Why.. why do you need to go to the nearest graveyard?

Danny: To nap?

Jason: Just- Why are you planning to nap in a graveyard?

Danny, realizing that what he said is not normal: ... because it helps? And I'm less likely to be harassed?

Tim, curiously: How does it help?

Danny: uuuh... don't tell batman?

Jason and Tim share a look and come to a silent agreement.

Tim: Only if you tell us how you ended up in Gotham.

Danny:.... Yeah, okay, fair. I didn't exactly know I was heading here? I was- I just needed to get away as fast and as far as I could. I picked a direction and flew til I obviously couldn't *gestures to the spot he landed*

Jason, concerned: What or who are you running from?

Danny: Eh, my parents? Local government? Both. My less-than-human-ness got exposed, and I wasn't testing out if my parents' obsession with ghosts would win over any parental love they may have felt. I got shot too many times when they didn't know to have faith in that knowing would help my situation.

Danny: Oh! So my parents are walking OSHA violations and I had an accident that should have killed me. I mean, it kind of did. Which is why graveyard naps help, the ambient ectoplasum makes me heal and regain my energy faster! The other ghosts call me a halfa since I'm an awkward middle ground between the living and dead and....um, I definitely have a concussion

Jason, weakly: What makes you say that?

Danny: My friends and sisters say I'm allergic to straight answers and I'm just putting it all out there. Also wavey

Tim, stepping closer: Wavey?

Danny, tracing invisible waves on a building: Wavey. Can we go to a graveyard now?

Jason, picking Danny up: Sure, kid. You said it helps?

Danny, let's it happen: Yeah.. it's not a cure-all, but it helps

Danny, waits til they're on the ground: Once my head clears, I can probably help with the weirdness of your ectoplasum. Nice to know I'm not alone in the "undead" hero gig

Jason, trips a little: You- wha- Kid?

Tim: Interesting. You can tell he died?

Danny: Yeah? I can sense ectoplasum, the dead, and the undead? It comes with the being dead thing

Jason, pressing a button so his bike has a high back that he can tie Danny to: You seem pretty alive to me

Danny: That's sweet, but if my vitals look anything like a normal human's, I'm actively dying. My heart rate and body temperature are closer to a corpse.

Tim, checks both those things and his eyes: okay, that's scary. And you definitely have a concussion. I believe we should take him to see Leslie, just to make sure his concussion isn't too bad.

Jason: He definitely should see the good doctor before we drop him off for a nap in the graveyard

Danny, panicking: No Doctors! No Hospitals!

Tim: She runs a small clinic, actually. We go to her if we get particularly injured.

Jason: Plus, she ain't no snitch

Danny: I don't know...

Tim: What would make you more comfortable with going?

Danny: I.... I don't know. It's been years since I went to a doctor or clinic.

Tim: Would it help if Hood or I stayed with you the whole time?

Danny: Aren't you supposed to be patrolling Gotham?

Jason: we can do that after we get you set up

Tim: I have a safe house he can stay at after he gets his nap

Jason: Sounds like a plan

Danny: Man, this feels like princess treatment

Tim, frowning: It's basic decency

Danny, head tilt: Is it?

Jason: Yes. How old even are you?

Danny: 16, why?

Tim and Jason share disbelieving looks. They would have pegged him at 13, maybe 14 if malnutrition was involved.

Jason: Dude, what have you been eating? I'm pretty sure Red was bigger than you and he's the smallest bird.

Tim: Asshole

Jason: Baby Bat is taller than you currently, and he's 4 years younger than you. Embrace your short king self, Red

Tim, pouting: Not all of us can have their childhood malnutrition and physical traumas erased by evil cool-aid

Jason: I don't know. Ra's likes you enough you could probably ask

Tim, makes a disgusted face: No thanks. Rather stay short than deal with that creep

Danny, mumbling: why does that name sound familiar? Ra's Ra's Ra's Ra's-

Danny, jolts: Al Gul???

Tim, suspicious: know him?

Danny: Yeah! Worst summoning ever!

Jason: You can be summoned?

Danny, embarrassed: Yeahhhhh, I beat the ghost king in single combat and now am technically king? Sort of? More prince, since I'm considered a baby. Who'd want a 2 year old ruling? I have people I trust making decisions on my behalf til I'm an adult by ghost standards

Jason: Kid.. How is your life even weirder than ours?

Danny, shrugs: I was doomed from birth.

Tim: We'll continue this conversation after Leslie checks you out

Danny: That's fair

Danny not only has a concussion, but his leg is broken (he didn't notice) and has some burns (from his escape). He gets his nap at the graveyard, which does speed up his healing, so Tim and Jason ferry him between the save house and the graveyard several times as he heals. Before Danny knows it, he's been adopted by these 2 vigilantes. Danny shows them his Phantom form at the same time Tim and Jason reveal their civilian IDs.

Tim and Jason gaslight the rest of the batfam about Danny always being there for shits and giggles, just take him to a family dinner and act like nothing is happening. Danny, always one for chaos, plays along. Damian is so mad about. Cass and Steph are delighted. Bruce, Dick, and Duke are so confused, but Duke is happy to not be the only Meta now. Alfred and Barbara learned about Danny beforehand because they know all.

[bangtanbeom]

⋆˚࿔ perfect match 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

୨♡୧ part one / part two / part three / part four / part five ୨♡୧

pairing: rentalbf!soobin x fem!reader genre: fluff, comedy? (debatable), fake dating au summary: desperate to escape your friends matchmaking, a small lie spirals out of control. soobin—your charming, professional, rental boyfriend—the perfect answer. but what if the hardest part won't be fooling your friends and your ex? what if it’s reminding your own heart it's all fake? w/c: ~3k warning: not entirely proofread, fluff (might be cringe), an attempt at humor. a/n: hi! welcome to another story (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧ i had this idea for years and recently i've been reading so many fake dating webtoons and it motivated me to finally start writing this one! and i thought soobin would be a perfect fit for the perfect boyfriend image. i'm excited how this one will turn out! enjoy <3

the cafe buzzed with chatter, the scent of vanilla lattes and fresh pastries filling the air. you stirred your iced coffee absentmindedly, half-listening to your friend's conversation—until mina leaned forward, eyes gleaming with mischief.

"so," she said, tapping her nails against the table. "i met this amazing guy at the gym last week. tall, sweet, works in finance. you have to meet him."

you sighed, already knowing where this was going. "mina, no."

"oh, come on!" jia chimed in, nudging your arm. "you ghosted every guy after the blind dates and you're rarely out of the house since you got dumped. it's been months!"

"and i'm fine with that," you said, though the words tasted hollow even to you.

mina scoffed. "liar. you've been buried in work, and your idea of fun friday night is rewatching 'reply 1988' alone. again."

you opened your mouth to argue, but jia cut in before you. "just one more blind date. if you hate him, we'll never bring it up again."

a headache was forming between your temples. you loved your friends, but their relentless matchmaking was exhausting, and you knew they would definitely bring it up again. before you could think better of it, the words tumbled out.

"i am seeing someone."

silence.

mina's spoon clattered against her cup. jia's eyes widened.

"what?" they said in unison.

your stomach dropped. you hadn't planned this—there was no name, no face, just the desperate need to make them stop.

jia recovered first. "since when? who is he? why haven't you mentioned him before?"

"it's... new," you hedged, scrambling for details. "we're taking it slow."

they exchanged glances, and you braced yourself for interrogation—but then mina's expression softened. "well... we're happy for you. seriously."

jia nodded. "but you have to bring him to the dinner next week. you know, the one where he might show up."

your ex. the one who'd made you feel small, replaceable. the reason you'd taken a break from dating in the first place.

a cold knot formed in your chest. you couldn't show up alone. you weren't ready to face him, especially when you were still hurt.

"of course," you heard yourself say. "he'll be there."

as your friends cheered, your mind raced.

what have i just done?

you had exactly eight days to find the perfect boyfriend.

and he didn't even exist.

the moment you stepped into your apartment, the weight of your lie crashed down on you.

eight days.

eight days to produce a boyfriend out of thin air—one charming enough to convince your friends everything's going well, impressive enough to make your ex regret everything, and believable enough to not get caught in your own web.

you groaned and face-planted onto the couch.

"this is a disaster."

your phone buzzed. a text from mina.

mina: can't wait to meet your mystery man! tell me everything about him!!

you stared at the screen, your fingers hovering uselessly over the keyboard. what could you say? that your imaginary boyfriend was tall? kind? had a nice voice? that was all you had—vague traits you'd daydreamed about but had never actually found in real life.

you typed back:

you: haha i'll tell you more later!

and immediately threw your phone across the couch like it had burned you.

the next morning, you dragged yourself to work, dark circles under your eyes from a night spent spiraling. your coworker, yeonjun, took one look at you and whistled.

"wow. who died?"

"my dignity," you muttered, slumping into your chair.

he rolled his chair closer, intrigued. "okay, drama queen. spill."

you hesitated. but yeonjun was the king of bad decisions—if anyone had advice on digging yourself out of a hole, it was him.

so you told him.

his eyebrows shot up. then burst out laughing.

"oh my god. you actually told them you had a boyfriend?"

"shut up." you hissed, glancing around the office. "i panicked!"

yeonjun wiped a tear from his eye. "okay, okay. so just... find a guy to pretend for one night. easy."

you blinked. "easy?"

"yeah! get a friend to do it. or—" his eyes lit up. "oh! rent one."

you stared at him. "a boyfriend?"

"yeah! it's a thing. there are, like, agencies for that. super professional." he pulled out his phone. "look, here's one—'perfect match rentals.' they specialize in fake dates, events, all that."

your stomach twisted. was this really your only option?

yeonjun smirked. "unless you wanna tell them you lied?"

you shuddered. no. absolutely not. they'd never let you live it down. you already dug the hole for yourself—too deep. and let's not start about your ex.

with a deep breath, you nodded.

"fine. let's rent me a boyfriend."

yeonjun swiped through his phone with the enthusiasm of a kid in a candy store. "okay, let's see what we've got here. perfect match rentals—professional, discreet, and way too many good-looking guys."

you leaned over his shoulder, squinting at the screen. the agency's website was sleek, polished and slightly intimidating. rows of profiles stared back at you—smiling, smoldering, some even holding puppies for maximum charm.

"this feels illegal," you muttered.

yeonjun scoffed. "illegal would be if we were hiring a hitman. this is just... strategic dating."

you shot him a look.

he grinned. "relax. think of it like ordering food. you're just picking the perfect dish for the occasion."

you sighed. "fine. let's see the menu."

yeonjun tapped the first profile. "ooh, check out jackson. 29, business man, speaks three languages. his tagline is literally: 'impress your collegues—or your ex.'"

you squinted at the photo of a sharp-jawed man in a tailored suit. "he looks like he owns a yacht."

"exactly! your ex would hate that."

"yeah, but he also looks like he'd side-eye me for using the wrong fork."

yeonjun snorted. "okay, fair. next!" he swiped. "oh! jaeyun. 25, specialty: 'the kind your mom would love to.' look at his smile! he probably bakes cookies."

you tilted your head. "he's cute, but..."

"but what?"

"i don't need a golden retriever in human form. my ex would think i downgraded to a puppy."

yeonjun groaned. "you're impossible." swipe. "alright, how about taehyung? 27, 'mysterious artist' vibe. look at that smolder."

in the photo, a brooding guy in all black stared moodily at the camera, a paintbrush behind his ear.

you deadpanned. "i don't need my fake boyfriend giving me cryptic one-word answers all night."

"ugh, fine." yeonjun scrolled furter, muttering. "sweet but not boring, handsome but not intimidating, confident but not arrogant..." then he froze.

"oh."

you frowned. "what?"

he turned the screen toward you.

the profile photo showed a guy with soft, warm eyes and a dimpled smile that felt like spring. he wasn't posing dramatically—just leaning against a cafe chair, looking at the camera like he already knew you.

name: soobin age: 24 specialty: the boyfriend experience

your breath caught.

yeonjun's voice dropped to a whisper. "damn."

you swallowed. "he's..."

"exactly what you need," yeonjun finished, grinning.

you hesitated. "but what if he's too good? what if my friends think i'm lying because there's no way someone like him would date me?"

yeonjun rolled his eyes. "first of all, rude to yourself. second—that's the point. he's supposed to make it believable." he tapped the screen. "look at his reviews. five star across the board. 'made my parents adore him.' 'had my ex seething with jealousy.' 'felt like a real relationship.'

you bit your lip.

yeonjun smirked. "so... should i book him?"

you took a deep breath.

"do it."

yeonjun's fingers flew across his phone screen with terrifying enthusiasm. "aaand—booked." he grinned at you, satisfied. "you're officially getting a fake boyfriend."

your stomach flipped. "wait, already? what did you even put in the request?"

"relax," he said, waving his phone. "just the basics—dinner with friends, ex will be there, need someone to make you look like the ultimate glow-up." he scrolled through the confirmation email. "oh, and he'll meet you tomorrow at 6 PM to go over details."

you nearly choked. "tomorrow?!"

yeonjun shrugged. "professionalism, baby. this guy doesn't mess around."

you groaned, dragging your hands down your face. "i can't believe i'm doing this.

"believe it," yeonjun said, slinging an arm around your shoulders. "by the time next week, your ex will be crushed, your friends will be shocked, and you—" he poked your cheek. "—will owe me big for saving your ass."

you swatted him away, but a nervous laugh escaped. "this is either going to be the best decision of my life or a spectacular disaster."

yeonjun winked. "best part? either way, it'll be entertaining. for me."

the glow of your phone screen was the only light in the darkened room, casting long shadows across the piled of discarded clothing thrown over your bed. you stared at the text from mina, the words blurring as your eyes burned from lack of sleep.

mina: omg he said yes?? so he's coming? super funn!

you tossed the phone aside with a groan, letting it sink into the sea of fabric surrounding you. the digital clock on your nightstand ticked over to 1:18 AM, the red numbers glowing in the darkness.

"this is ridiculous," you muttered to the empty room, flopping back onto the mattress. a misplaced coat hanger stabbing into your shoulder, and you batted it away with more force than necessary.

the ceiling fan spun lazy circles above you as your mind raced through the same exhausting loop it had been stuck in for hours.

outfit. story. backstory. cancellation.

a nervous laugh bubbled up as you imagines explaining this to someone.

i'll be meeting my fake boyfriend tomorrow to plan our fake relationship for a dinner where my very real ex will be watching.

your phone buzzed again.

yeonjun: stop overthinking and go to sleep. you have a hot date tomorrow.

you scowled at the message.

you: it's NOT a date. it's a business meeting.

yeonjun: sure. whatever helps you sleep at night.

you rolled onto your stomach, burying your face in a pillow that smelled faintly of fabric softener and regret. the scent reminded you of laundry day, which reminded you of chores, which reminded you of all the very normal, very boring things you should be worrying about instead of this elaborate charade.

the sweater you'd tried on earlier—the soft cream one with the delicate embroidery at the collar—laid crumpled near your feet. it had been the frontrunner before the great wardrobe purge of midnight. classy but casual. approachable but put together. the perfect 'i didn't try too hard but still want to make a good impression' outfit.

not that you were trying to impress anyone.

except, well.

you groaned again, louder this time, as if the sound could exorcise the butterflies staging a rebellion in your stomach.

a glance at the clock. 1:37 AM

with a sudden burst of determination, you sat up and grabbed your laptop. the screen flared to life, illuminating your tired face in the dark room.

"backstory," you muttered to yourself, fingers hovering over the keys. "we need a believable backstory."

the blank document stared back at you, cursor blinking expectantly.

how did we meet?

your fingers tapped out possibilities:

coffee shop (cliche)

mutual friends (vague)

work connection (too easy to fact check)

you deleted them all with a frustrated backspace barrage.

the reality of what you were doing settled over you like a heavy blanket. you were about to pay a stranger to pretend care about you. to look at you with affection that wasn't real. to spin lies so convincing your closest friends would believe them.

your fingers stilled on the keyboard.

maybe you should cancel.

the thought brought both relief and a strange pang of disappointment. you could text yeonjun right now, tell him to call it off. you'd face the teasing from your friends, sure, but at least you wouldn't be living this lie.

your phone buzzed again, startling you.

unknown number: hi, this is soobin from perfect match. looking forward to meeting you tomorrow at 6. let me know if you have any special requests for our backstory.

your breath caught.

he texted like a normal person. no corporate speak, no weird formality.

you stared at the message, thumbs hovering over the screen. what did one say to their rented significant other?

looking forward to being fake-dating you?

before you could overthink it, you typed:

you: hi! likewise, no special requests—just need to survive dinner with my ex.

you hit sent before you could second-guess yourself, then immediately cringed.

"survive dinner with my ex?" you muttered. "what are you, twelve?"

the three dots appeared almost immediately.

soobin: ah, the classic revenge fake-dating scenario. don't worry. i've got plenty of experience making exes regret their life choices.

a surprised laugh escaped you

you: that's weirdly comforting.

soobin: that's what i'm here for. see you tomorrow. try to get some sleep.

you stared at the message, something warm yet nerve-wrecking feeling unfurling in your chest. maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all.

closing the laptop, you finally turned off the light. outside the window, the city hummed its nighttime lullaby, and for the first time that evening, your mind grew quiet too.

tomorrow would come, with all its complications and charades. but for now, in the dark, you let yourself imagine—just for a moment—what might feel like to have someone like soobin, just someone in general, look at you like you were the only person in the room.

even if it was all pretend.

the cafe was too bright.

that was your first thought as you hovered outside the entrance, fingers nervously adjusting the strap of your bag for the twelfth time in two minutes. the afternoon sun glinted off the glass windows, making the entire establishment look like it was under a spotlight—which, of course, only amplified your growing sense of dread.

this was a mistake.

you checked your phone again. 5:58 PM. two minutes early.

your stomach twisted.

you could still leave. you should leave. this whole thing was absurd. who hired a boyfriend? who pretended to be in a relationship just to save face in front of their ex?

you... apparently.

with a deep breath, you pushed open the door.

the scent of roasted coffee beans and warm pastries wrapped around you as you stepped inside. it was cozy—wooden tables, soft jazz playing in the background, the low hum of conversations. a few people glanced up as you entered, and you immediately stiffened, suddenly hyper-aware of how out of place you felt.

was it obvious why you were here?

you swallowed hard and scanned the room.

then you saw him.

soobin.

he was sitting near the back, one hand curled around a coffee cup, the other tapping idly on his phone. he looked... normal.

not in a bad way. just—human?

no flashy suit, no over-the-top charm oozing from his posture. just a guy in a soft-looking sweater, his hair slightly messy like he'd run a hand through it one too many times.

and then he looked up.

your breath hitched.

his eyes—warm, brown, kind—met yours, and for a second, you forgot how to move.

then he smiled.

not a practiced, customer-service smile. not a smirk. just a small, genuine tilt of his lips, like he was happy to see you.

it threw you off completely.

you forced your legs to work, weaving through the tables until you stood awkwardly in front of him.

"hi," you said, voice slightly too high. "you're soobin, right?"

he nodded, setting his phone down. "yeah. and you must be my date for next weekend."

his voice was deeper than you expected. calm. steady.

you nodded, then realized you were just standing there like an idiot.

"right. yeah. should i—" you gestured awkwardly at the chair across from him.

"please," he said, motioning for you to sit.

you did, gripping the edge of the table like it was the only thing keeping you from floating away.

it lasted approximately three seconds.

three agonizing seconds where you stared at your hands, at the table, at the wall behind him—anywhere but at him—while he just... waited. patient. unfazed.

finally, you blurted out:

"this is weird."

soobin blinked. then, to your surprise, he laughed—a soft, warm sound.

"yeah," he admitted, running a hand through his hair. "it kind of is."

the honestly caught you off guard.

"you're not going to pretend this is totally normal?" you asked, raising an eyebrow.

he shrugged. "would you believe me if i did?"

"...no."

"exactly." he took a sip of his coffee. "so. let's just acknowledge it's weird, and then move on."

you exhaled, shoulders loosening slightly. "okay. yeah. that helps."

another silence.

"so," you tried again, "how long have you been, uh, doing this?"

"renting myself out as a fake boyfriend?"

you cringed. "when you say it like that, it sounds bad."

he grinned. "about a year. mostly for events like this—dinners, parties, the occasional family gathering."

"do you... like it?"

"it pays well," he said simply. then, after a pause, "and sometimes, it's nice. helping people out, i mean."

you studied him. there was something in his tone—not quite sadness, but... understanding. like he got why someone would do this.

"so," he said, setting his cup down, "tell me about this dinner."

you sighed, rubbing your temples. "right. okay. so my ex is going to be there—"

"right, yes. revenge."

you shot him a look. "it's not revenge. it's just... a lie that got out of hand." you trailed off.

"sounds like revenge." he supplied, smirking.

you groaned. "fine. maybe a little."

he leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand. "i'm listening."

and so you explained—the lie, your friends, the never-ending blind dates, the way your stomach churned at the thought of showing up alone while he got to parade around with his new girlfriend—the same girl he had cheated on you with.

soobin nodded along, his expression shifting between amusement and something softer—sympathy, maybe.

when you finished, he hummed. "okay. so we need a backstory."

"right."

"how did we meet?"

you hesitated. "i was thinking... coffees shop?"

he raised an eyebrow. "like this?"

"too obvious?"

"a little." he tapped his fingers against the table. "what about... a bookstore? you were reaching for the same book, we got to talking..."

you blinked. "that's... actually kind of cute."

"i have my moments," he said dryly, but there was a playful glint in his eyes.

"okay, bookstore it is," you agreed, "and we've been dating for...?"

"two months. long enough to be serious, not so long that it's weird they haven't met me yet."

you nodded, scribbling notes in your phone like this was some kind of bizarre business meeting.

"what do i do for work?" he asked.

"something impressive but not too impressive," you mused. "graphic designer?"

"perfect. and you?"

"same as real life. marketing."

he grinned. for the first time since you'd walked in, your shoulders loosened. maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all.

as you wrapped up the details—favorite foods, pet peeves, how you like your coffee—you caught yourself laughing at something he said.

laughing.

with your fake boyfriend.

the absurdity of it all hit you again, but this time, it didn't feel like panic. it felt like... fun.

soobin leaned back in his chair, studying you with an amused expression. "you're not as nervous anymore."

you blinked. "i'm not?"

"nope. your shoulders dropped about ten minutes ago."

you hadn't even noticed.

"guess you're just that good at your job," you muttered.

he smiled—not the polite one from earlier but something warmer. "or maybe you're just not as awkward as you think you are."

you rolled your eyes, but couldn't help but smile.

"so," he said, finishing the last of his coffee, "we good for next week?"

you took a deep breath. "yeah. we're good."

୨♡୧ part one / part two / part three / part four / part five ୨♡୧

© bangtanbeom 2025

[tacticaldiary]

A Fighting Chance

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader

Genre: Hurt/Comfort

"When was the last time you kissed me and meant it?" Her voice drops into something akin to defeat.

And Simon...Simon feels like the rug's been pulled from under his feet.

Part 2, Masterlist,

"What're those?"

"Papers."

Ghost pauses halfway through opening the document, glancing up at the curtness of her voice. "Papers? She doesn't meet his eyes, gaze fixed on the table of the little booth they're sitting in.

The ice in her drink is long gone, watering down her coffee into something that tastes as bitter as her heart.

It had taken months for her to finally make this decision. Days of talking with her lawyer, crying alone at night and coming to the gruelling acceptance that this was for the best. It was best for both of them.

There's not many things that unsettle Simon. He's had blood stain his hands; his own, his comrades, and his enemies. Had almost any injury you could think of marring his skin, been prodded and ripped into, been the one on the opposite end of the knife.

But as he slides out the documents, turns them over, Simon's never felt more apprehensive.

He stills, reading the first few lines, clenching his jaw. "What is this?"

"I want a divorce."

And something in him crumbles at her defeated tone. Like she's already decided. Like he doesn't even have a chance to ask why or talk it through.

"No." He says tightly, putting them down and crossing his arms.

Her gaze shoots to his. "You can't just say that."

"I did. I won't sign them."

"I want this." She argues, and Simon swallows back the lump in his throat at how utterly tired she looks.

"I don't."

She's the light of his life, the one good, untouched piece of joy he gets to see. Something other than the bloodshed and violence he lives in.

"Simon," She says, shoulders sagging forward. "I can't do this anymore."

"This isn't the solution, love." He feels like his skin is crawling, the beginnings of unfamiliar panic clawing at his chest when she doesn't react to the pet name.

Doesn't smile, doesn't flush that beautiful red, doesn't squirm.

When she doesn't respond again, tight-lipped and clammed up and so determined to not look at him, he asks the question burning a hole through his tongue.

"Why?"

Deep down he knows. Knew this was coming but that part of him is buried under the thudding of his heart, and the rush of blood in his ears. Everything feels deathly still and moving too fast at the same time.

"Why?" She repeats, something in her stirring at the question. Her brow furrows and she switches from a cautious indifference to disbelief and frustration quicker than Simon can process. "Are you serious?" She huffs out an incredulous laugh. "You're away for months at a time and I'm supposed to what? Wait for you at our doorstep and wag my tail all happy when you finally come back to me?" Her grip tightens on her drink.

"Even when you are home, it's never about us. Never about me and you. You lock yourself in your study with your work, don't talk to me unless you come out for dinner or lunch. When was the last time we went out?" She demands. "When was the last time we went on a date? The last time we slept at the same time in the same bed?"

Simon clenches his jaw but says nothing, at a loss for words. It only encourages her to keep going, spewing thoughts that have been boiling over for the past few years.

"You barely look at me when we're home, I had to drag you out of the house to get here! You left halfway through our anniversary dinner last year because work called you in. Sometimes...sometimes I feel like you're only with me because it's easier than leaving and starting over, and that fucking hurts. It hurts when you can't bear to spend five minutes with me away from work. I've been telling you this for ages but you just...you don't listen to me." She leans forward, drink completely forgotten and hits the final nail in the coffin.

"When was the last time you kissed me and meant it?" Her voice drops into something akin to defeat.

And Simon...Simon feels like the rug's been pulled from under his feet.

"I never even know if you're coming home to me." Her voice cracks, and she hugs her middle, taking a deep breath to steady herself. "So yes, Simon, I want to separate. I'm not happy, not like I was when I met you." A sheen of tears she refuses to let fall.

"You can focus on work like you love to, and I can...I can move on."

It was so good when they started out. She found him endearing, dry humour and brooding and all. It was special, those first few years, and she'll always care about him but this...this waiting, this hurting, laying in bed at night alone and cold and crying...it wasn't right. It wasn't what she wanted and she wouldn't force Simon to want it when he clearly didn't want to.

"Fucking hell, I love you." Simon says quickly, stumbling over what to say. He reaches out for her hand on the table, but she pulls it away before he can grab it. It stings more than he can convey, makes the reality crashes down onto him.

He's about to lose her.

Because he couldn't fucking bear to pull himself out of being 'Ghost'.

It was always a rough couple of weeks during his leave. The adjustment to civilian life was a slow one for him, but that's not really an excuse at all.

"I don't think you do."

Simon blinks at her like she's slapped him. "You...you don't think so?" He repeats, running a hand through his hair. She nods, one nod, quick and so sure that it makes his chest ache.

Fuck. He's absolutely messed up.

"Everything's finalised on my end." She says. "You just need to sign them." Her voice is soft, almost like she's coaxing him.

If there's one thing he knows, it's that he's not touching those fucking papers. He's not losing someone he loves again.

"I'll take time off." He says, the intensity of his gaze makes a shiver run down her spine. "We can work through it, yeah? You can't spring this on me and not give me a chance to protest."

She shakes her head, "You're only taking time off because I'm upset." She tries to explain. "What do you think is going to happen? We spend a month together doing what we used to, and when everything's a little more stable you leave again. Distance yourself. Shut me out. Then we're back to square one."

"Won't happen." He says like he hasn't been doing it for the past few years already. "You...I can't lose you, darling." He leans forward. "Let me make it better. Give me a few months-"

"Simon-"

"A week."

"A week?" Her eyes widen. "A week to...what, prove that you'll change?"

"One week."

She worries her lip between her teeth, considering. One week wasn't a long time, but hope was dangerous in a situation like this.

"I'm not letting you go over something like this." Simon says. "I can't."

"This isn't about you." She crosses her arms. "You really think you can turn just...reverse the past few years in a week?" Maybe it's foolish of her to want him to say yes, to fight for her and realise that she's been hurting, but goddamn doesn't a small part of her scream at him to do it anyway.

"Not trying to reverse it." He folds his arms, and she can see the tense line of his shoulders as he takes in the situation, gears turning in his head as he plans how he's going to work his way out of a situation so precious and daunting as this.

Part of him didn't think it would ever come to this. Yes, he can be cold and aloof but Simon thought she knew that he loved her through it all. No matter what.

When was the last time you kissed me and meant it?

Fuck if that doesn't tear through his chest more painfully than any caliber bullet ever could.

He takes her in quietly for a moment.

The woman he fell in love with. The person that gave him a reason to keep going, a motive to feel anything other than the cold efficientness of loading a gun and firing. Soft touches and warm smiles, something so at odds with the rough life he's used to.

Sitting there in front of him, she looks more beautiful than he remembers, and it only proves to make his stomach sink like a stone at the notion of seeding any doubt about his feelings in her heart.

A right fucking bastard he was for it.

"I'm sorry." He breathes out, much softer than the gruff voice he's been using with her. "I'll do better. Just give me a chance, yeah?"

For one horrible moment, Simon thinks she'll decline. That she'll slide over the papers again and demand he sign them.

But she considers his words for a moment before nodding once.

And it's all he needs.

A fighting chance.

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Part 2

(11/10/2023)

[writersdrug]

Training for Two

Chapter 3. New Trails

Masterlist

Summary: You and Riley take the beaten path to defeat boredom. Simon realizes that the seed of his new obsession has been planted.

Warnings: mild cursing, obsessive behavior

Simon had never told you how long he'd be gone - which was fine, your flat was only a twenty-minute drive from his home, should you need to do laundry or get more soap. You had some freelancing logo-design work you could focus on in your downtime, and Simon had been gracious enough to leave a note on the coffee table with the wifi password. Truth be told, you imagined this would feel like a holiday: no more shitty bosses. You were your own boss, here. You could make your own schedule, as long as you made time for Riley.

You soon discovered, after moving into Ghost's house, that it was very much not a vacation. The interior of his home was so barren that it made you feel like you had been sent to an asylum. On your first day there, you managed to get a bit of freelance work done; after that, you tried watching the telly, but you couldn't drown the heavy restlessness in the back of your mind.

You decided to phone a friend.

"What's Riley like?" Leslie said through the phone, which was tucked under your ear.

"Military dog." You replied. You were lying on the floor next to Riley, stroking her fur as her head rested on your stomach. "So proper, I've never seen anything like it. You know- when I made breakfast today, I dropped some food on the linoleum- she didn't bat an eye. Girl just watched."

"That's amazing... you know Donald would have run to it like it was the first meal he'd been fed in years."

You laughed, making Riley's head bounce on your abdomen. "Mum has got to stop feeding them real food..."

"What about the client?" Leslie said, changing the subject. "Simon, was it? What's he like?"

"Honestly?" You began, scratching between Riley's ears. "A decent guy, don't get me wrong - but bland. Gruff. His apartment is, too."

"Just like ya mum always said." She snickered. "Can I see?"

You sighed. "Nah, I never checked if it was ok to bring people over. Not sure if he'd appreciate me giving you a tour. But I'll ask next time if you can visit."

"That's fair..." You heard her shuffling around on the other end of the line. "Well listen babes, I should get back to work. Got five left on my lunch break."

You groaned at the prospect of having to be alone in Simon's barren home again. "Alright... still on for this Thursday?"

"You know it! Nina's coming too."

You grimaced. "Whoop-tee-doo..."

"Oh, c'mon, I'll make sure she's civil. Love ya."

"She'd better be. Love you!"

The call ended with a click, and you let the phone slide from your shoulder with a sigh. You stared at the ceiling, running through what you could possibly do. You'd already had a shower at your flat before coming here, you'd done plenty of work...

Riley tilted her head up to look at you, sensing your frustration. You looked back down at her.

"What d'you and Simon do all day?" You asked.

She sighed and looked away.

Maybe it was time for a walk.

"Alright, Riley!" You said, pocketing your phone and sitting up. She scrambled up at the sudden movement; her eyes followed your every move as you stood, her stare expectant and excited.

"Fancy a walk?" You asked.

She whined and yapped, shifting her weight from one foot to the other.

You chuckled. "C'mon, then - before you and I both start going insane."

On your way to the closet to fetch her leash, she had nearly knocked you down to beat you there. You huffed, leaning down to grab your shoes and tug them on. She sat (im)patiently and watched, her tail slapping against the wooden floor.

"Alright, alright..." You laughed, grabbing her leash and latching it onto her harness. She obediently trotted to the front door and sat, waiting for you. You opened the door and stepped outside, confused when the leash tugged in your hand. You looked back inside and saw that Riley hadn't moved from her seat on the floor. She looked at you, ears forward and eyes eager as she waited for... something.

You looked at her, puzzled. "What's wrong, girl?"

She whined, pointing one foot up and thumping her tail against the floor.

Oh, right. Military dog.

"Okay, Riley." You said clearly, and she happily trotted out the door. You chuckled, locking the deadbolt behind you and beginning the much needed walk. She stuck right by your side, never passing you nor falling behind.

For the kind of gruff, admittedly shady man that Simon was, you noticed that he lived in a pretty nice area. If you told your mum where he lived, she'd blow a cap out of jealousy - the houses were neatly lined down the street, each one with a driveway and a small garden bed underneath the living room windows. Simon's was noticeably bare - Christ, even his grass was thinner than the other neighbors', how does one manage that?

You eyed his empty garden bed as you passed it. You wondered if he would let you plant a few things... just to liven up the drabness. A couple of Hostas, maybe some African Violets... you knew he wouldn't want too much colour, but he definitely needed something to brighten his home. Currently, it stuck out like a sore thumb against the other houses. Not to mention, it would give you something to slice through the boredom of staying here.

Eventually, the sidewalk led to the edge of a small patch of woods. A bridge stretched over the creek, which then led to a longer, winding path through the trees. You came to a halt, reading the sign next to the trail.

"Po-wee-hee-co park..." You mumbled and Riley stared at you with her tongue hanging from the side of her mouth. "Poeheko Park? You ever been here?"

She looked between you and the trail, sniffing the air. She licked her lips and whined.

"Suppose not, Simon's only ever dragged you around the block a few times, huh?"

She eyed the trail warily, but you could see her eyes brimming with eagerness and interest. You chuckled, reigning in her leash and starting over the bridge. "Time for an adventure!"

Simon sat stoically on the heli, eyes fixed on the wall across from him. His palms rested on his thighs, fingers splayed. He appeared calm and collected, focused on the mission that Priced had debriefed not too long ago.

Except, the mission couldn't have been further from his mind. He was thinking about you and Riley. We're you giving her enough attention? That was a dumb question; clearly you knew how much attention a dog needed. You'd done this before... but had you ever worked with a dog that had certain needs and medications? You never mentioned it during the interview, and he didn't remember to ask. What if you couldn't see the signs when Riley's pain was flaring up? What if you had forgotten that she needed pain medication?

He thought about texting you - but he quickly shut the thought down. He'd reserved texting for emergencies only, and he knew you were good at your job. There wasn't a moment of your life you hadn't spent around dogs, of course you would take perfect care of Riley.

"Honin' in, LT?" Soap's voice echoed through the coms as he took the seat opposite from Simon. He was relaxed, as if this was just another Friday for him - well, Simon supposed, it was.

"Always." Simon replied gruffly, focusing back on the mission at hand. He cleared his throat and flexed his fingers, trying to keep a cool composure.

"How's Riley doin'?" Soap asked. "Know I jus' seen 'er a few days ago, but- ye finally cave n' get someone to pet sit?"

Simon grunted. "'Course. Not gonna leave 'er alone that long, it'd be torture."

"Who'd ye get?"

"What's it to you?"

"Secret service? Ye snag one of the Royal Guards fer the job?"

"Jog on, Soap." Simon warned with a serious look, and Soap raised his hands in defense.

He couldn't tell Johnny about you. A fierce, possessive feeling in his chest told him not to. He knew Johnny had a thing for young, pretty things like you, and he refused to let you fall victim to his desires. In fact, he hated the thought of it.

But- who was he? Why was he being so protective over someone he barely knew? You were an adult, perfectly capable of making your own decisions. Why should Simon cockblock you and Johnny? So what if he wanted to shag you?

Mentally, he shook his head. No. Never. He'd lock you in his house if it meant keeping Jonny away from you. Even if Simon wasn't anything more than your client, he wasn't going to allow Johnny to get close to you. It would be too weird. You're his, after all.

...

Fuck.

He sighed and adjusted his position in his seat. You and Johnny didn't even know each other, for Christ's sake. He was overthinking all of this. You'd probably never even meet his team, why would you need to? You only ever have reason to spend time in his house, not on base. You just watch Riley, make breakfast in his kitchen, sleep on his couch, maybe his bed, if you're with the dog... using his bathroom, his shower...

He scowled at himself. Maybe hiring you was a huge mistake. You were too distracting.

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[sheepispink]

FIX IT SIMON! ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི

Pairings: Lieutenant!Ghost x civilian, baker! reader

Part 5 of Sweet As Sugar Series ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི

ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི Summary: Simon’s been put on leave, much to his annoyance, and due to the Christmas period your shop isn’t even open. So he has to wait painstakingly for two days for it to reopen once more, and when it does, he doesn’t plan to leave.

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Finally, he’s been pushed on holiday, by force no less, and his first feeling is that he’s bored— extremely so. The initial plan was to sleep through the entire first day, but he could barely get more than a few hours in before he was awake in a cold sweat. At least back at base he could work it off in the gym, or with a few laps around the muddy track. Here in this apartment, he couldnt nearly do as much as he’d like to, especially with the eerie quietness about it. Usually he could hear Soap snoring next door, or at least Price’s quiet murmurs as he reads over another mission plan. It didnt help that he got let off right on Christmas Eve, which meant today and tomorrow he could barely do anything around town since nothing would be open, especially your cafe.

He could never relate to the other soldiers about the joy of returning home though. They’d groan on and on about how they missed the smell of home cooked food, plush pillows in their beds, being warm on the coldest nights and most of all being fussed over by their parents, siblings or well.. their lover. He can hardly remember where he left the spare toilet paper let alone find comfort in the scent of his ‘home’, nor actually find comfort in his bed. The sheets move around too much, pulling off the corners of his bed every time he tosses, and they're rough against his bruises, not doing anything to soothe his aches.

A few years back, he moved out of Manchester to stay in Cardiff. It didn't affect him much anyway, considering he was barely at his own apartment throughout the year, but it did make it particularly easier on the odd chance he was kicked out of base— part of the rules for the Christmas holidays. He really had tried to argue with Price, but he wouldn't have it, telling him to ‘just take a damn break’. Soap had even joked a few times about dragging him over to Scotland with him, but Ghost wasn't too sure if he could handle another Mactavish let alone just Soap. Plus, any type of family gathering was really not his thing.

So, after surviving his second restless night, he makes the impulsive decision to drive down to your town at seven am, arriving there in half an hour. The bell jingles, early regulars already filtering in and out the cafe for their coffee before their jobs start. He usually either went now or near closing time, trying his best to avoid the busiest hours— otherwise he’d never get to see you.

“Cardamom tea.” He grunts at you before placing a five pound note on the counter, eyes catching onto the mess behind the counter before he raises a brow at you.

“What the hell happened back there?”

You sigh, glancing back at the wet floor sign and the spices hastily swept underneath the cupboards. “The front sink suddenly burst this morning. I've been using bottled water but it’s starting to become an issue.”

You ring in his order though, turning around to dispense the premade tea, the large airpot keeping it warm. It was way better than any teabag, the fresh spices balancing out in his mouth in a way that makes some part of him melt.

“Have you called a plumber yet?” He watches as you strain the spices out before pouring into a cup for him, placing the lid on and grabbing your pen for your signature doodle. It’s not like he wanted to admit he liked them, but you’ve been getting increasingly creative with the mini-version of him who's been up to all kinds of things.

“Ah.. well, the closer it gets to Christmas the harder it is to find anyone. It’ll have to be fixed in the new year.” You give him a shrug as you hand over the cup, obviously looking a little down about having to deal with a dodgy sink on top of running the shop each day. It’d certainly makes your tea products a struggle to produce and he doesn't even need to ask to see you contemplating shutting it down. “Let me ‘ave a look.” There’s not much he could do to make it worse anyway, so you unlock the small swing gate, letting him walk around the corner. Usually , you would’ve helped him inspect it, but a group of regulars returned for their usual meeting and you knew this would be an order you had to handle now. Though, when you finally complete it, he’s disappeared off again.

“Hi, what can I get for you today?” Just like the first day you met, your music is blaring in the background, considering it’s half an hour till closing and many don't hang around till now. Finally you lift your head, meet with Simon’s familiar black mask and you smile, though slightly tilting your head in confusion.

“Oh— what are you doing back here? Wait- did I forget a plan?”

Your face grows into one of panic and he quickly quells it with a firm shake of his head. A soft thud rings out and you look down to see a toolkit he had just placed on the table, what looks to be plumbing supplies.

“We’ll have that sink workin’ by the end of today.”

He had gotten to work immediately, muttering to himself about how bad the previous owners had been to let it get to this state as he crouched in front of the sink cabinet. “Simon, you really don’t have to—“ He shakes his head,reaching into a carrier bag to pull out a flexi hose and other things you don't recognise. “You got a customer waitin’ for you.” You squeak, having not even realised and quickly apologise before taking the order. In no time, your sink is working again, although Simon did get a little drenched when he tested it and the water pressure was a bit too high. The sight had you in fits of laughter as you quickly searched for a towel. Besides that, you marvelled at how he had restored the sink with a bit of diy, cringing at the dirty state of the old pipes and the like.

“Thank you for everything today. I’m thinking about getting a filter attachment for the water so it’s better quality. You’ll be the first to try the new teas, of course.”

That’s accompanied by your usual emoji, that of which is a little smiley with its tongue sticking out. He has no idea why you’re so enthralled by the mini pictures but he’s made no effort to stop you, just replying back in his own usual tone.

“You’re welcome. Filtered water sounds good, tea will taste better too.”

Okay, so maybe he didnt text as nicely as you and had a bad habit of getting straight to the point— you didn't seem to mind too much though, and it’s better than leaving you on read like he’s heard some men have done. A sigh puffs out his chest as his head hits the pillows, looking at the speckles on his ceiling as he thinks over the day. It felt good to be occupied, and not in the usual ‘planning something that could end up killing people if done wrong’ way. His job helped people of course, damn every mission was always for a better cause but something was different with the way you had lit up, grinning at his handiwork. Families had thanked him before— nervously because of his heavy armour but thanked him nonetheless. Yet still he didn't get that rush, the one that made his teeth grit, eyes avert awkwardly and his fists to clench a little. One that made him a little uncomfortable, though sent him reeling all the same. ‘If i didnt fix it, I'd never get my tea for a long while..’ He concludes that must be why he ran out to the nearest home diy store, and definitely not the frown on your lips. it must be.

Despite that, he was seemingly having an internal battle with himself the longer the days continued with little sleep. He just had no excuses for what he was doing anymore, nothing was making sense. Most of all was when the next day he made his way to your shop again, muttering something about ‘The fridge made a loud noise when i was here. It’s annoying.’ before he was stalking around the counter and pulling it away from the wall. He checks all the vents, and clears the dust buildup from many years of use. You confess your parents planned for a new one but you haven't been able to afford it yet.

“I don't need it.” He shrugs as he hands you the military discount card he keeps spare, supposed to be for family members but now he’s giving it to you. It’s still early when he's done with the fridge, and decides to check out the lights in the main kitchen, where all the bakes are made. He’s been here before, when you needed to clean it at closing time and he stayed late again. One of them needs to be replaced, obviously and so he takes it upon himself to do that. Somehow he finds another problem, fixing the squeakiness of the back door.

This carries on until a third day, he had come by after munching down some dinner, and he somehow migrated his problem fixing to your small apartment upstairs. You didn't mind of course, and he hadn't pushed, in fact he sounded more awkward than you when he spoke up. “If your pipes were this rusty downstairs, I think the ones upstairs can only be worse. You should.. get that checked out.” He mutters, his arms crossed over as he crouches before the kitchen water pipes. You have to stifle a smirk, nodding along with his words instead. Whilst he worked, he’d ask the odd question and you had explained that the previous owners barely used the apartment themselves— explaining his assumption.

“Ah.. I really should get someone to check it out…”

It feels fun to act like this— you almost feel like you’re saying no to a kid about buying a toy. He’s sitting there silently but you know he wants to go up and sort it out for you. The reason? You’re not sure, but you have a few suspicions. “You’re on holiday now, right?” You glance at him as he stands from his crouched position, and he nods. “Are you doing anything for it?”

“No.” He grunts almost a little too quickly, the boredom practically agitating his soul now as he shifts, fidgeting with the tools as he places them back in the boxes. “Oh.. well, would you mind checking my pipes out upstairs then? I mean… as long as you're not too busy. You can just tell me what’s wrong and i’ll hire a plumber later—“

“I’ll fix tha’ by tonight.” So, you close up the shop, since it’s late now already, and walk up the small staircase up to your apartment. It looked far smaller on the outside, but you had planned your space well. There was a kitchenette, looking a lot more modern than the bakery downstairs. Rather than the dark mahogany, it was a lighter brown and off white walls, matching the plush leather couch before your tv. It was clear you had done some work on it yourself, or hired someone at least, to renovate the place. He takes his shoes off by the door and you take his jacket from his hands to rest it on a little hook. It was cute to him, to see how you’ve cosied up this space to be one of your own. The first thing he notices is how warm it is, not a sweaty hot but like sitting infront of a fire on a freezing day. It’s welcoming, the warm light rather than the sterile white he’s accustomed to, as well as the little picture frames among the walls of artwork you’ve grown fond of over the years. He even smiles at your key holder, the way a cat pops out as you place the key down.

He’d describe it as a home, a real one. From the small clutter of dishes that you shyly hurry him past, or the blanket still splayed over the couch from a late night movie— hell even the bin full to the brim. It’s full of life, something his apartment has never known. “Alrigh’ let’s see the damage here.”

“Will you be fine here on your own? I still need to clean up downstairs..”

He nods quickly, even going as far as to shoo you away and you laugh hurrying down again.

You come up at eight, wanting to deliver him a cup of the leftover tea from today whilst you washed out the large airpots you kept them in. “Simon?” You call out, looking around until you see him standing before the sink, finally repaired and looking a little.. dazed. “I’ll be finished in a bit, why dont you take a seat on my couch and watch some tv?”

“I should go home—“

“No! ..I mean, I can't just force you to go now after all your hard work. Stay and drink the tea please?” He cant say no to those eyes and so he grunts, letting you tug him over to the couch and sit him down. Then you hurry over to the cabinet, rummaging out a pack of nachos and some salsa. “Help yourself, okay? I’ll be done soon. Promise.”

Then he’s left alone again, sitting there quietly as he sips on the mug of tea you gave him. It’s in a mug that has prints of skulls all over it, and a ghost on the centre with a little ‘boo!’ next to it. He finds it awfully fitting, a bit curious on when you even bought this and when you planned to show him it. Like he said before, your tea is just perfect. The right mixture of sugar, spice and everything else nice. It breaks down a part of him he hadn't known existed, muscles relaxing into the plushness of the couch. He’s got a large cushion behind his back, something you must love since there’s a few more littering the couch too. The tv is quiet, on one those stupid adult cartoons that he’s never found quite funny but the ambience of this is too cosy to deny, too comforting. Has it really been that long since he’s slept? He hadn't wanted to admit it, but he’d been avoiding sleep recently just to escape those nightmares for a bit. This was comfy though, almost too comfy, but you said you’d be back soon— he’s sure the military trained him to wait that long anyway. So he sits there quietly, waiting.

When you return, you call out again, only to recieve silence in response. Confused, you walk further in, seeing him sitting upright. “Lt! Simon! …Ghost?” Still no reply, that is until you hear quiet breathing, and you step closer to see his head is slumped back a little. Carefully tiptoeing around the couch, his blonde eyelashes are pressed against the black cut outs of his mask, lips gently parted as his chest rises and falls. You can see his chin properly for once, the small curves of his lips and the pin prick of a scar near his neck. That makes you swallow sharply, only images of him being near death coming to your mind. For now, you shake it out and try to figure out what to do with the sleeping hunk of a man on your couch. Of course, you’re far from being annoyed but you’d feel extremely guilty if you didn't at least try to wake him.

What if he feels uncomfortable when he wakes?

“Si..” You whisper, the nickname unintentionally slipping out as you gently rub his shoulder. No response is heard, only a deep breath leaving his chest as he relaxes into your couch. “Si, you fell asleep.” This time, you think he’s woken but he just shifts his body, head leaning back further to press into the back of the couch. You sigh, not sure what else to do than to just leave him here until he wakes. There’s no point attempting more drastic measures, knowing damn well you likely cant even lift his arm just from the sheer muscle on it. “You gonna lie down at least? That’s gonna hurt your neck in the morning.”

It had been a murmur to yourself but he had seemed to have the same idea, head sinking a little more in search for a comfortable place to rest. He grunts in his sleep, mask crinkling near his eyes as they squeeze. You tug his arm gently to lead him, and he subconsciously follows, adjusting himself until his head rests on a cushion you placed on the armrest. His arm lazes over his stomach as he gets comfortable on his side, cheek pressing in to the pillow just slightly. Smiling to yourself, you grab the thick throw blanket from the back of the couch and tuck it around him before reaching out towards his face. Your fingers tangle on the fabric of his mask, his nose twitching until you slowly drag down the bunched fabric to his chin. “Sleep well, Si.” The couch creaks as he sinks in further, the light ahead flickering off with the touch of your fingers.

It’s late in the morning when he grunts, though today it’s not the light from the curtains annoying him, nor does he wake up to silence neither. Infact, a soft hum is heard not too far away and he’s almost positive he’s dreaming now. Quickly perking up at the unfamiliar surroundings, he whips his head around only to see you standing in an apron, teeth biting your lip as you concentrate on scooping an egg perfectly in the plate. You practically beam at your own work, finally looking up to see him stare back at you, throw blanket sliding off his shoulders. “What the–” His voice is cold, instantly reverting to his military instincts before you chuckle, the sound easing something in him. “You fell asleep on my couch, silly. Looked exhausted too– have you been sleeping well recently?” He sits up properly now, glad for the mask to cover his warming face, before walking over to the counter you stand at.

“Not my fault your couch is comfy.” He takes the plate you slide towards him, lifting his mask to his nose as he takes a bite of the sausage.

“You’re avoiding my question, Si.” His eyes flicker up, caught off guard by the nickname but any challenge he wanted to give you for having the audacity quickly dies in his throat. He’s not the man for you, but you’re so damn tempting to him. Never has he hesitated to set a boundary, yet here he is letting you call him Si. “Fine, I havent been sleeping well. Just adjusting, tha’s all.”

You don't believe him, but there’s not much you can do, not when he’s being stubborn as it is right now. Despite that, you still couldn't just let him deal with it on his own either, not after everything he’s been doing for you. So you shuffle through your cupboards, grabbing a packet of Chamomile tea and offering it to him. “Take it. It might not be perfect, but it helped me relax when I had insomnia.” Then you’re grabbing a diffuser too, and a few candles, placing everything into a small carrier bag. “If it doesn't work, then I guess you’ll just have to sleep on my couch forever.” He rolls his eyes at your cheeky words, and grabs your empty plate to stack atop his.

“Alrigh’ fine. But I'll hold you to that promise.”

He might have to start praying they dont work.

—————————————————————-

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Sweet as Sugar Masterlist

Taglist:

@hidden-treasures21 @bieberismysoulmate @gallantys @tessakate @galactict3a @krispymagazinepizza-blog @silas-aeiou @kupids-arrow

[grumpymirelurkqueen]

You and the guys are stuck with a bomb. They think they're going to die with you, so they get flirty with you.

Maybe it's a bit ooc. I think I've read this kind of fic somewhere before, but I can't remember who or where. So sorry…

sorry for my bad english

My request are open !

Ghost : Ghost would be angry and stressed, Simon would be depressed but happy that you could die together. He would fight first and foremost just to look good in front of you. But in reality, he's delighted. Maybe that's toxic, but that's what I think of Ghost. He wouldn't want it to be with anyone else, whether it was you or him. He wouldn't want to see you with anyone but him.

You helped him, both physically and psychologically. After that, you were the only psychologist who wanted to talk about his problems. You were his friend first, then his shrink and then his work colleague. He never wanted to talk to you about his feelings when you were friends, but then he jumped in. Never wanting to be the weird patient who falls in love with his psychologist. So he didn't say anything. But if you die right afterwards, no one will be able to judge him…

So when you go back to him to tell him there's no way out. And that he hasn't managed to defuse the bomb, all he can think about is you.

Within seconds he had his lips on yours. His mask didn't block the contact. A flash of electricity ran through your bones. You didn't think he'd think of you in that way. You who had the same vision as him. Maybe in a world he'd be able to tell you what was on his mind. For the moment he only had your lips and tongue.

Soap : Soap is a professional bomb-maker, at least that's what he boasted when the captain introduced you. You didn't question it. You've heard things about him, like surviving a bullet to the head (because he wouldn't look too hot with a scar, would he?).

He meticulously tries to defuse it. Carefully and precisely. But nothing. Just silence, rattling and Soap's groans of frustration. You've given up on surviving this bomb for far too long. Maybe you could spend a little time with the man you've been fantasising about.

You ask him to sit down with you, something he couldn't refuse. But what to do next to a woman he loves. That face tensed up a little as he thought about how to tell you how he feels without saying too much. You thought he was still on the bomb.

‘You know,’ he pauses to consider whether this is a good idea, ’I'd like to do something before I die with you. He finishes by looking into your eyes.’

You couldn't make out what was behind those blue eyes. But something deep in his gaze made you blush a little. You look at him the way he looks at you, passion.He puts his hand on yours, like unspoken words. With a gentle, loving smile, you cupped his face so that he could look at you.

‘I would be the happiest woman to die with you Johnny.’

And with that, you kiss her. You convey all your feelings in that kiss. Nothing to hide. He was surprised, he wanted to be the first to make the move. But he made up for it by holding you tightly in his arms. He too put his feelings.The closer the countdown got to detonation, the more passionate and impatient he became. With a certain romanticism. Like soft and sweet, honey in both your mouths.

Then a clearing of the throat. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see Ghost annoyed with the two of you.

Wait! Wait! Wait! Has it always been here?

Gaz :He won't let it get him down even if he doesn't understand this bomb, made by a five-year-old. Knowing that you're in the room with him is stressful.Not that you're stressing him out, you're past that stage of ‘romantic’ shyness. He just doesn't want you to die. He does, you don't. Compared to Ghost, he wouldn't want you to die. He's far too romantic for that. He'd like to die and see you happy, even with another man. It doesn't matter to him.

He grunted in adolescent frustration. A little too excessive in his gestures. You didn't understand him. How could he be so stressed, and you too relaxed?

‘Come on Kyky, what are you so worried about?’

‘And you, how did you manage to be so relaxed? You could hear the anger, but also the underlying sadness in her voice.’

‘Well, I have confidence in your abilities, Kyky,’ you admitted.

‘Well, not me’ You couldn't hear it. But you could see him. His shoulders low, his eyes sad. You stroked his shoulders with both hands, comforting him.

‘Kyle, he raises his eyes to you, surprised that you call him by name, what is it,’ you ask with a soft smile on your lips.’

‘I didn't want things to be like this,’ he admitted. I wanted to protect you, to cherish you, even from afar if that had been possible. But instead, look where we're both at. Both ready to die without putting a word down about our relationship.’

‘So in our next life come and get me and marry me’ A wisp of hope runs through her eyes. Like a silent promise of love.

A huge bang was heard. But it didn't come from the bomb. You turn round to see Soap and Ghost. They've blown the hinges off the door. ‘Oops, we interrupted a few, well, we'll come back later’

Cpt Price : With this man, expect him to carry you like a princess, a doe-eyed gaze into your eyes as the red and orange smoke from the bomb explodes behind him. Thanking him with a drooling, greasy kiss. Oh no, sorry, that's in his current fantasy.

In reality, he'd be stressed, biting his lip. Looking at him, you think he's thinking, honestly, he's having a waking nightmare. Another semi-romantic, he's too old for that.So he tries everything he can to get you out of the building, but you're locked in. He calls the guys several times on the walkie-talkie. But they don't answer. He's hiding the stress of losing you.It's just a bomb that won't do much damage if you're far away. So he takes your hand and leads you to the room over there. He knocks over a table, his feet towards the wall. Then, in an authoritative tone, he orders you to sit down between the wall and the table. Which you do without saying a word.You had seen and admitted in time not to contradict his orders.

He follows close behind, settling between your thighs. Forcing your back against the wall and putting your legs around his hips. His back to the table, a position to protect you. But you don't experience things like that. It felt like a sexual position. You could feel his breath on your neck, warm and sweet. It gives you the shivers, he notices.

‘I'm sorry about this position, it's okay, it doesn't require any sexual overtones to remain professional.’

‘Yes it's fine, I like this position, you're blushing violently as you realise what you've said, I mean not like that…’

He giggles at your comment that you like this position. Maybe later he can put you in this position under sexier circumstances.

Price 🥵🥵

[placeinthemiddleofnowhere]

Reign down on me - Part 3

Pairing: Ghost x Hybrid!reader (eventual poly!141)

No use of y/n or mention of gender/race

Summary: Reader is a wolf hybrid in a world that treats them like second class citizens, given a horrible start in life after being thrown into the military with no preparation. After years of struggle, they're finally taken away from their base by Ghost, now a permanent member of taskforce 141 reader struggles to come to terms with the fact that perhaps there's a life there for them - if only they reach out and accept it.

Warnings: hurt/comfort, Angst, abuse mentions, self doubt, abandonment

-🐺-

When the three of you left Price’s office, you were still marvelling at your collar. Your hands couldn’t leave the leather alone, stroking it and rubbing your fingers over the ridges of the ‘141’ stamp that graced the side of your neck. It had you smiling even despite the nagging feeling that everything was going to go away; that there was a rug just ready and waiting to be pulled just when you were going to get excited about your future with the team.

You were still holding your new handler tag between your fingers when you finally laid eyes on your Sergeants. They were hanging off the sofa in the break room, shouting and laughing as they furiously tapped at the remotes in their hands and shoved at each other like wild animals. You widened your eyes at the display, watching curiously as the man on the screen in front of them warned that they were running out of time. 

“Oi, you two! Pack it in, lads!” 

The men immediately put the controllers down and stopped the loud music from blaring out of the TV. They bashfully faced your small group, looking from where Price had shouted and inevitably to you. 

Gaz seemed to recognise you right away, his face lit up when he caught your eyes, but Soap didn’t give much away. His lips stayed firmly shut into a cheeky smile and his eyes roamed all about you, eventually catching on the shiny new collar around your neck. Gaz saw it too. 

“Good to see you again,” Gaz smiled, nodding his head in greeting. “Reppin’ the team as well - nice.”

You froze for a second, not really used to having someone remember you nevermind say it was good to see you again. Though you soon let your hands drop to your sides and nodded, offering a weak smile. 

“Thanks, Sergeant Garrick,” you replied, erring on the side of over-politeness. 

“Pft, don’t sergeant Garrick me again, you’re on the team now, it’s Gaz or Kyle, ok?”

Your ears raised in surprise. If you’d tried to call Sergeant Maddox by his nickname you’d have had your back flayed. Though when you thought back to it, Gaz had made a face everytime you addressed him before - he’d even tried to correct you and insist on Gaz a couple times. You’d decided in the past that it seemed like a ruse to make you step out of line, though now you realised he probably did just prefer his nickname.

“Alright, Gaz. Nice to meet you too…Sergeant MacTavish?” You said unsure, trying to gauge if ‘Soap’ would prefer his title or his nickname. 

“Soap’ll do fine for me, furball.” He snorted, face cracking into a big grin.

Furball would not do for you. You felt your ears drop and had to will yourself with everything you had not to let loose a growl. It mustn’t have been enough to completely hide your displeasure. Ghost put his hand on your shoulder, forcing a flinch out of you yet again, and squeezed. Whether it was meant to be threatening or reassuring, you weren’t sure, but either way you untensed your body and sighed out the rest of your annoyance. 

“Behave, Soap,” Ghost tutted.

“What? I’m just being my charmin’ self.”

“Be someone else for five minutes,” Ghost snarked.

“That desperate to hear my impression of you again, LT?”

“Maybe later, Soap,” Price said briskly. “There’s work to be done. Now that everyone’s on site, we can head over to the training I've set up for the day and we can get stuck in. You boys ready to head out?”

Soap and Gaz nodded, picking up their jackets from where they’d been strewn across the couch and got ready to move. You geared up to follow them, but Ghost put his arm out like security barrier, sending you into a surprised stop as you walked into him with an ‘oof’. 

“We’re gonna pick up your new boots first, Pup,” Ghost explained, his eyes twinkling when you tilted your head up at him. “We’ll catch up with em’ in a minute.”

“Pup?” Gaz repeated.

He’d stopped in his tracks as he heard that. From your periphery you could see his eyebrows raise. 

You felt your cheeks heat up like tiny furnaces and continued to avoid his eyes, simmering in your own embarrassment. It hadn’t occurred to you that Price hadn’t picked up on it, but now that Garrick had, you felt the full flush of embarrassment hit you in a fiery torrent. Just great, the new team are gonna pick up on Ghost’s babying and have a field day with it, you thought dourly. 

“Yes?” you said cautiously, waiting for the jeering snipes to begin. 

“Do you want us to call you that now?” 

Fuck off.

Get Fucked.

Why don’t I call you that? 

Those are the responses that your invaluable years of being taunted within an inch of your sanity suppress. Instead you shrugged lamely, forcing your body to relax and your fangs to unsnarl.  

“Call me whatever you want,” you grunted, leaving out the silent ‘most people do’.

You braved a glance over at him and watched as his eyebrows twitched upward. There was a distinct lack of mocking grin and on top of that, he didn’t hit out with a rebuttal. He just tilted his head at you and averted his eyes, silently going off in the same direction that Soap and Price had and letting the door whoosh shut behind him. 

“Gaz was just bein’ polite, Pup,” Ghost sighed, squeezing your shoulder once again. 

“What?”

“He wasn’t trying to make fun of you. He was just figuring out how to address you.”

You looked back up at Ghost and frowned, feeling your brows sink heavily over your eyes. Was he in your head or something? You folded your arms over each other and huffed out a breath, already irritated that Ghost had been the cause of the situation in the first place with all his coddling and cooing. 

“Never said he was,” you answered defensively. 

“Your attitude gave you away, darlin’.”

You knew then that under his mask, Ghost’s eyebrows would be drawn upward, enhancing his knowing stare underneath that dark mask of his. It sent your heart hammering and your fizzling mood freezing out with a small dying gasp. You wondered what your punishment for said ‘attitude’ would be. 

“Sorry, Sir,” you murmured, feeling your slanted tail awkwardly tuck in between your legs. “Won’t happen again, sorry for speaking to you out of turn.”

Suddenly the collar round your neck felt tighter and the cool tags burned your goosebumping skin. The weight of it felt impossible now that it was tying you to Ghost, now that you knew that you were supposed to be performing to a standard that fit a man like him. You were supposed to compliment him, not embarrass him with your silly antics.

“Hey, you’re fine, alright? I’m not angry with you. I only mention it because I don’t want you to think he’s like those men that were on your old base,” he said gently. 

You curled your hands into fists by your sides, willing them to stop shaking now that Ghost was watching you closely. His eyes followed the movement and you gulped, not quite sure how to respond. You’d have had your ass kicked for speaking like that to anyone on your old base, nevermind whoever your current handler was at the time. Now Ghost was telling you he wasn’t mad and looking at you with those big stupid eyes of his.

“Honestly, you’re not in trouble,” he sighed, reaching out and stroking a hand over your head. “If it helps, I can stop calling you pup if you don’t like it?”

“No, that’s alright,” you said a little too quickly. 

“You sure?” 

You nodded, not wanting to embarrass yourself any further by squeaking out anything else. Or perhaps even admitting that you liked it - that it made you feel safe, like his. It felt like Ghost cared for you on a level no one ever had before, following his kind words with kind actions. 

How could you willingly let go of that? 

-🐺-

Your parents had already taught you that being cared about was not a luxury that most hybrids were afforded. You remembered what it was like being dropped off at Branhaven that first day, that memory haunted you in almost every nightmare you ever had. You’d been so sure that they meant what they said when they wanted the best for you. It only stung all the more years later knowing that everything they said was just a lie designed to cut you off like a limb gone badly necrotic.

They’d taken you out on a car ride, just you by yourself, and you’d been so excited to begin with. Your little tail wagged so hard even despite being pressed harshly into the stiff leather seats. They never usually took you anywhere alone, it seemed like such a special day at first - Your brother and sister always got fun trips and you always got dropped off at your grandmas and plopped in front of the TV for the day. Now your parents had done the opposite.

It was finally your turn to have a day with them. Or so you’d naively thought. Too young at the tender age of ten to figure out that something out of the ordinary was never a good sign.

They’d been so smiley though, giving each other happy looks as they drove far far away from your little home town, humming along to the radio even. It would never have crossed your mind that that day was going to mark the change of everything. They’d even stopped at McDonalds and bought you a happy meal and let you choose a milkshake to wash it down with. That never happened, you’d only ever gotten to jealously watch on as your brother and sister got nice things like that. It was too good a score to stop and think anything bad about.

But then reality hit after a few more hours on the road. They stopped the car outside of what you thought was a toll booth which presided over a big ugly grey building in the shape of one of your brother’s play block towers. That’s when it occurred to you that maybe you weren’t going somewhere fun, maybe you were facing something of the opposite nature. It didn’t help that the man at the ‘toll booth’ said that your parents were expected, that they were pleasantly on time for their appointment. 

“Um…why did we stop here?” you’d asked, your voice squeaking out so timidly as you tried not to upset them. 

They never liked it when you talked too much or asked too many questions. Behaviour like that was often met with sighing and temple rubbing and ‘would you just be quiet?’. Though you couldn’t contain yourself then as you looked at the facility in front of you, frowning as you caught sight of a crying kid being dragged through the big metal gates, throwing themselves against the fence in hopes to try and cling onto something and not be lead into the building within. 

Was it a doctors office maybe? Some kind of specialist you had to see now that you were a growing hybrid on the edge of…what was the word again? Puberty? 

“Well kiddo, we’ve had a tough decision to make,” Your dad had said, placing his big hands over your mum’s. 

You tilted your head when you noticed that she was avoiding looking at you. Suddenly they weren’t smiling anymore either. The car felt very stuffy all of a sudden, the smell of the fat and salt from the Mcdonalds was clogging thickly in the air. 

“What tough decision?” you asked, feeling your ears slowly pin against your head. 

“Well…as you know you were a- a shock to your mother and I. We never thought in a million years we’d have a hybrid child, never knew the- the DNA was in us,” your dad had said, saying that dreaded DNA word in the same annoyed hiss he always did. “And we’ve never been prepared for the reality of it, the challenges that come with having a kid that’s…different. As you get older, that’s only gonna get more challenging for us. You’re going to become aggressive, and you’re going to have mood swings and you’re going to be difficult to control - it's just the way of hybrid kids.”

“You’re going to be a danger to your brother and sister,” your mum said, still refusing to look over at you, instead keeping her sights pinned on the entrance to the building. “To us.”

“Yes, and then what can happen is that you start wandering off, going out and getting into all sorts of trouble like those awful stories you hear on the news. You could get involved with gangs, you could hurt other people and go feral, you could do all sorts of damage and then the police would be forced to hurt you, maybe even kill you if you became a real danger. And you don’t want any of that do you?”

You frowned. Of course not! You shuddered to think that you would ever hurt someone, you’d always been the exact opposite of everything they'd just described. You were a pushover. You were kind to a fault, always trying to get on people’s good side on the off chance that you might receive a shred of their kindness. You’d never dream of being aggressive or of hurting any of your family.

“No, I don’t want that!” you agreed, searching your dad’s eyes and looking for him to acknowledge your plea. 

You wanted him to know that you weren’t like that. You hoped he knew that you’d never ever want to hurt him in a million years, he was your dad, you loved him endlessly. Even when he barely showed you an ounce of his own love in the meagre years you’d been alive, you would do anything to show him that you weren’t like those other hybrids. You were theirs, you had their DNA, even if yours had wolf in it, you didn’t think that mattered. 

“We know you don’t want that,” your dad said sympathetically, his voice dramatically pitching as he showed his ‘understanding’. “That’s why we’ve made the decision to sign you up for a program that the government recently started. It’s designed to help good hybrids like you, ones that want to grow up to be good people, to become productive members of society.”

You always laughed bitterly thinking back to that now. Member of society - hah! You were made little more than a slave, kept locked away behind fences or escorted around by groups of strange men with guns, and yet that program was supposedly to turn you into some paragon of virtue for all hybrids to aspire to. 

“I want to be good,” you affirmed, smiling as your dad smiled back at you. 

And you did. All you ever wanted was to be good.

“I know. And we think you’re gonna be so happy here, and you’re gonna do so well with the program! So we’re gonna go in and finish signing you up and you’re going to answer all of their questions honestly and politely, ok kiddo?”

“Oh…ok!” you’d said, not wanting to immediately bother him with your annoying questions. “But um- sorry - can I ask? What is the pro- program?”

Your dad’s mouth pressed into a thin line and you baulked, gulping as you realised you’d annoyed him after he’d just been so happy with you a second ago. Stupid dog! You were immediately frustrated at yourself, getting him worked up just when he was so proud a second ago. 

Though you were pleased to see he would answer you regardless, he was just so kind as to explain things.

“It’s with the military, we were told by the helpline that this was the best place for you to go. Since you’re a wolf hybrid, you’ll be happiest here - you can get all your energy out properly and be part of a big ‘pack’ when you get assigned to a unit. They said it’ll be just like school, like a special school just for hybrids! They’ll train you up first and then you’ll begin getting sent out to places around the world where people need help, until eventually you get your very own personal handler who looks after only you and takes you with them everywhere,” your dad explained, his voice slightly strained as he tried to position the job as nicely as he could. 

You frowned. You ignored his ‘don’t question me anymore’ eyes. Questions bursting from your mouth before your head could quash them down. 

“A handler that looks after me? But you and mum look after me,” you laughed, “Why would I need someone else to do that?”

“Because you’re too old for us to look after anymore, we have to let a professional take over now,” your mum said, finally turning around to look at you, waving off the hard look your dad shot her. “You have to stay here, where its safe for us and you. They’ll know how to handle you properly here. Hey now! No, don’t make a fuss. What do we keep telling you? You’re not a baby, you don’t need to bother with crocodile tears!”

You couldn’t help but get panicked then. Halfway through her speaking you realised that they actually intended to drop you off here and give you away. How could they just do that? You had to be mixed up, you reasoned, you had to be thinking stupidly as usual and you were getting it all wrong. 

“B-bu-but I…do I- I’ll get to come home and visit right?” you spluttered, trying desperately to withhold the tears that were streaming down your cheeks, rubbing furiously at the evidence that you were in fact the baby she was describing. “You- you said it’s like school! I’ll get to come home on the weekend then, won’t I? I’ll get day’s off on Saturday and - and Sunday and I’ll get to c-come home, right?”

Your mum was about to speak again, but your dad forcefully dug his hands into hers, grabbing with enough force to shake her, practically baring his teeth at the barest hint of her mouth opening. She shut it promptly again and he breathed out a loud sigh, one that still reached your ears over the frantic rushing of your own blood stream.

“Oh kiddo, you’re getting yourself all upset just before you have to meet the nice people! C’mon now, stop the silly tears. We’re gonna get you inside and you can ask all the questions you need to. In fact I think they’ll be very excited to get to talk to you. Now dry your eyes and come with me, that’s it, just breathe and calm down. No need to be a silly baby, because you’re not a silly baby are you? That’s right, you’re a big strong wolf. Come on then!”

Your mum stayed in the car, offering you a small smile as you went. Though as you think back to it now, you realise it was probably a smile of relief. One reserved only for herself.

Your dad’s parting words were little better than your mum’s smile. He’d said he’d speak to you again soon. That was just before he’d sent you packing into the strange office after signing in at the front desk, escorted away by a big bald man in a crisp green uniform, barely able to turn your body enough in his iron grip so that you could get one last look at your dad. He did a great job of feigning concern as he smiled encouragingly through the doorway. It was enough to help you calm yourself a little, thinking that at least you’d probably see him again on the weekend since he told you he’d see you soon. 

From then on however, you weren’t able to ask any questions, it hadn’t gone at all like your dad had said it would. You still weren’t able to confirm if you were getting time off to go see your family again, still weren’t getting to learn what it was you would be doing. You were cut off at every turn. 

Your hands were smacked with a ruler when you didn’t give the lady the answers she wanted because you were too busy trying to determine what the hell this program really was. You’d jumped the first time she did it, wailing from the shock of it at first before the burning sting set in. She’d just tisked at you and repeated her last question in a shout, asking you about any possible allergies or health problems. 

Little were you to know, you’d face much worse in the years to come.

You tried to do everything that was asked of you just to avoid that horrible ruler for the rest of the day. However it wasn’t enough to make them happy, nothing was. They didn’t smile at you or speak to you encouragingly, their monotonous voices were like sandpaper on your ears. They shuffled you along from room to room, processing your forms and getting you set up with a bunk - in a room full of similarly sniffling hybrid children - before whisking you away to a building outside that looked much like a garage. 

They’d thrown some items of clothing at you from off the racks and told you to get changed behind the makeshift curtain they’d set up, ordering you to hand over your old clothes afterwards. The room smelt like stale laundry detergent and bleach. The air stung at your eyes while you changed, biting at your overstimulated senses. 

You’d felt all the more inconsolable as you gave away your favourite tshirt, mourning the loss of the happy little cartoon dog as you had to trade him for a plain green button down. You struggled to put it on with your shaking fingers, huffed when you had a hard time squeezing your tail through the toughly stitched hole in the rough trousers. Military issue wasn’t built for comfort, that was one of your first hard learned lessons. 

“The fit’s alright,” the bald man had confirmed when you were out, staring at you with a bored look of a man that was going to be doing the same assessment with tons of other hybrids for days to come. “Look after those clothes, you won’t get another set until you progress to the next stage.”

-🐺-

“Pup?”

You snapped out of your thoughts and lasered in on Ghost, suddenly realising how badly you’d zoned out. How long had you been ignoring him for? Fuck!

“Yes,Sir? Sorry, Sir,” you said quickly, trying to rectify your mistake. “I…”

He’d asked you something…

“I asked you if the boots fit alright?” Ghost chuckled, ruffling a hand over your head.

You sighed and looked down at the shiny new shoes, still blown away by how easily Ghost had acquired not only those but also a full new set of hybrid uniforms and underwear. The quarter master hadn’t even blinked at his request, he’d just gotten Ghost to sign a few forms and just like that you had a brand new wardrobe full of new and perfectly pressed clothes. 

Normally you were only allowed to replace one new piece at a time, and usually you’d be met with annoyance and huffing at every request. The old quartermaster would drone on about money and what a waste it was to give you something new. This one just smiled as he handed you a bag with all of your fresh new things, telling Ghost to let him know if you needed any new patches for your shirts while you did all you could not to gape at him. 

“The boots are good, thank you. They just need broken in,” you shrugged, already feeling them rubbing a little uncomfortably across your left ankle. 

“Mhmm, just let me know if they dig too much. I can tell Price if you need a break today. Remember what he told you earlier, we want you to communicate with us, alright?”

“Alright,” you answered, still feeling like you’d landed in some kind of alternate reality overnight. 

“That’s my good pup.”

He squeezed your shoulder and led you off to the training area then, his back turned as you stared up at him with big eyes. My good pup. Your spine had tingled so warmly after hearing that, you’d even felt your traitorous tail wag a little before you gripped it tightly in your hand and stopped it. 

The whole way to the training area you repeated his words in your head, almost drunkenly swooning over the rumble of his accent. It kept you following slowly behind him, trying to ensure he didn’t see the ridiculous little smile that had refused to leave your face after his praise. Not that it was just the praise itself, of course, no he’d called you his specifically. 

It was only when you were met with Price again that you were able to think straight. Your posture went rigid when you met his eyes and noted that he looked serious now. The job was officially starting. 

You’d been led into a cavernous building with big bright lights glaring over your head. It’s floors were filled with tall panels of wood that stretched high above you and even over Ghost's towering frame, filling the room with a cheap sawdusty smell. From inside you knew there were men waiting inside the labyrinth that surely lay within, you could hear their heartbeats echoing in the expansive space, you could smell their sweat as they adjusted to the warmth of the blaring overhead lights. 

Everything was set up for a simulated mission. You’d done similar drills many times before, your heart was already beating fast with anticipation, base instincts beginning to bubble to the surface. You were ready to run, ready to hunt. 

However the nature of your quarry was still to be revealed. That kept your head just human enough to listen to what Price had to say. It never did to misunderstand the mission and run straight into failure, and at that point you wanted to do everything you could to try and dodge any punishments. 

“So we’ve got a simple set up for today, this is mainly to get you properly acquainted with the team and get you familiarised with us,” Price said carefully, keeping strict eye contact with you to make sure you understood him. 

If you were to hover outside your own body you knew your pupils had probably already dilated. Your chest was probably already noticeably heaving as the wolf inside you seized control over your mind. He’d know you were almost gone, and would need carefully given instruction.You flicked your ears for him, letting him see that you were  listening intently to what your new Captain was saying.

Little did he know there was a new part of you now primed and ready to receive his praises, endorphins were ready to fire as you got ready to impress him. You felt like you had a real chance to shine now, to do well for someone other than yourself.  

“Basically we’re going to run you through some tracking drills. We’ve got some bits of clothing prepared for you to scent and you’re gonna run through the maze taking down hostiles and securing your ‘hostages’. This is gonna help you remember our scents so that you can find us in the field in future, and it’s gonna give us a taste of what you can do when you’re up against an enemy. You’re gonna start off with Ghost keeping you in a collar hold to start, you’re gonna alert him when you find an enemy or sense a hostage, but we’ll let you do some solo runs as well. Sound good?”

“Yes sir,” you answered in a growl, the wolf inside straining to go. 

“Alright. Ghost, help Pup stick their gear on, I’m gonna go up to the stands and get ready to watch.” 

With that Price moved up to the metal steps to your left, ascending to the high walkway above so that he could watch over the maze and track your movements. With each thud he made, your heart beat with it. You tried not to wriggle too much while Ghost got you ready, but you did receive a small ‘hey!’ and a tug on your collar when you tried to look past Ghost and toward the course. After giving you a second to calm down, he stuck you in a vest and hooked your comms up to his and Price’s, ensuring he secured a looped earpiece round your ear to hear them with as well.  

From then on it was like torture waiting for Ghost to get himself ready, it felt like time was moving at half speed, your tail swished impatiently as he got himself into safety gear and took his sweet time grabbing one of the training guns from the racks. You shivered with anticipation, heavily scenting the air already while you stepped from foot to foot. Your body was burning with energy, your legs ready to pounce. 

“Alright I’m gonna get the lights in a second, we’re gonna simulate a city street at night, so you’re going to have low visibility,” Price explained, voice sparking to life through the comms in your ear. “If you walk round to the entrance you’ll see Gaz and Soap’s jackets. You’re gonna get a good whiff of em’ and use that to track em down, Pup. You ready?”

“Ready, Captain,” you answered, already straining in Ghost’s hold. 

“Fuckin’ hell,” ghost rumbled.

He’d gripped your collar after he finished sorting his gear and now you were primed to go, struggling to try and pull him forward as you sensed the job was starting. ‘Work mode’ had shuttered off any other thoughts. All that kept you in your spot was the incredibly tight grip that Ghost had on you - that and all the training you’d had not to abandon the handler that was collar holding you. You might’ve tried to squirm free otherwise. 

“That’s one strong wolf,” Price chuckled, disappearing as he shut off the lights with a loud click. “Hold on tight, Ghost.”

Your instincts flared ever more wildly in the darkness. The flickering lamplights above were just bright enough to lead you around to the starting gate of the course and to the discarded jackets strewn on the floor. 

Ghost took one of them in his free hand and held it up to your face, letting you drink in the scent of it while he kept a firm grip of your collar. Almost immediately you were getting warm notes of aftershave and undertones of rich home cooking. Gaz, you guessed in the back of your mind, vaguely recognising the scent from back in the break room. Ghost lifted the next one for you, repeating the procedure again. Annoyingly that’s when you realised that Soap was an expert in demolitions. You knew that now from the hints of explosive materials that you could sniff out. 

You whuffed out an agitated breath and stopped Ghost from taking the jacket away, holding it longer so that you could try to find something to pinpoint Soap properly by. Sniffing out explosives and associating that with a friendly would be a very very bad idea, even with your clouded brain you knew that, so you wanted to establish his scent by something better. You inhaled again and gulped the scent in, holding onto the gentle hints of sage and cigarettes that emanated from below the plastics and frowning when you swore you could detect a familiar hint of spicy citrus peels…

You dropped the confusion as soon as it came, satisfied that you could accurately identify both Soap and Gaz. There was no point wondering why that secondary scent was on there, and now you were far too eager to get started. You rushed forward and had Ghost quietly swearing again as you set off through the wooden course, soon greeted with more accurate building facades as you stepped out onto an almost abandoned city street. 

You huffed in deep lungfuls of air, twitching your ears all the while as you listened out for hostiles and tried to scent out your targets. There were so many intermingling scents, so many distractions to sift through. Only a few steps forward you detected something in an alleyway to your left and turned to Ghost, flicking your head in the direction of the possible enemy ahead. 

Ghost nodded and flicked two of his fingers to his side, signalling for you to heel while he raised his gun. Luckily your training allowed you to tamp down the instinct to run off and chase the enemy like a snarling beast, otherwise you’d have run off to do just that.

Instead you quietly followed along with your handler while he picked off the hostile with a suppressed shot. Your ears twitched nonetheless when it came, feeling like a fly had buzzed right into it with the noise that it made. The training guns were always too high pitched, never able to quite simulate the real sound of a shot. 

“Good,” ghost whispered, just barely enough so that you could hear. 

Your tail swished and you smiled to yourself as Ghost took a hold of your collar again, allowing you to lead him further through the street, brimming with pride after being complimented. It took a little time to work your way through the course, keeping yourselves pressed tightly into the shadows. The two of you crouched and ducked through the alleyways, picking soldiers with weapons off one by one and leaving the fake civilians to wander.

When you finally came to a building that emanated with the smell of amber tinged aftershave, you stopped suddenly and perked your ears, alerting that you’d found your target. Ghost made his way to one of the windows and peeked inside, whispering to you that there seemed to be two men, and one was holding a gun to Gaz’s head. He released your collar and swirled his index finger by the door, signalling for you to wait by it and get your orders 

“I’m gonna take the man with the Gun out from here. You try to go inside and take the one by the doorway. You can surprise him if you act fast,” Ghost whispered. “On my signal.”

You nodded and primed yourself at the door, ready to fling it open and throw yourself inside. You watched Ghost intently from your periphery, doing everything not to snarl with all the adrenaline that coursed through you. The warm buzz of a mission going well never failed to make you happy, always showing you that you were capable and strong. Something to be feared when out on the field. 

Ghost grunted at you to go and just as his shot rang out, you ripped through the doorway and set yourself on the man inside. He screamed loudly as you took him down, a sound like a strangled cat leaving his throat as you swiped at the target pad that had been put there. It always terrified people when you did that, making them realise just how much of a threat you were when you easily ripped the foam and simulated a perfect kill. 

In real life that kill would’ve been near silent once their vocal chords had been torn, but the man before you was shrieking as you loomed over him. It was enough to bring his friend rushing out from the shadows, emerging from a room just behind Gaz in a blaze of shock from all the noise.

Just as the man’s trudging steps hit the floor, you leapt from your old target and toward the new one, snarling and growling up a storm. You were ensuring you drew the fire to you and not your hostage, just as you’d been trained to do. Though before he could get a shot off, you were on him, slamming his gun hand to the ceiling above and overwhelming him with a few snaps toward his precious face. 

That was usually enough to have people panicking and forgetting all of their training. In this case it was as well. The man screamed and tried to use the butt of his gun to hit you, but you directed his hand away easily and barked loudly in his face. When you bit at the foam by his throat, he screamed all the harder, sending you into a revelry as you savaged the fake target with glee. 

By this point your mouth would be dripping with blood, and your teeth practically burned with the lack of wetness there. Your mouth watered at his pathetic cries, jaw working as you willed yourself not to clamp down on him and bite. It took everything in you to remember this man wasn’t actually your enemy, and you’d already ‘killed’ him. You didn’t need to do anything else. 

“Oi, shut it!” Ghost shouted, pulling you promptly off of the terrified man while glowering down at him. “You know better. Dead men don’t whine and piss their pants.”

“Sir, I-“

Ghost shot him a warning look, forcing the man to bite his lip and let himself fall back, closing his eyes as if he’d just drawn his last breath. You snickered to yourself and hummed with pleasure as Ghost raked his hands through your hair, roughly petting you with his thick skeleton gloves. 

“Good Pup. Price was right, you’re fast!”  he praised, working his hand over your vest and giving you a few encouraging pats. 

You rumbled out a happy little chirp, already non-verbal as the adrenaline fully set in now. You were deep into the mindset of the wolf, trusting your instincts and training to keep you right. Shut up, focus, signal, bite the foam; your deep rooted commands played like an old mantra.

“We both told you,” Gaz said, “that one’s a beaut in the field.” 

You looked over to him then, some of your humanity returning as you realised how embarrassing it was to be petted and cooed over in front of your Sergeant. Though Gaz’s compliment didn’t escape you and, dumb animal that you were, you chirped at that too. He smiled at the sound and shook his head, looking over to Ghost and away from your horrified widening eyes. 

“So mister saviour,” Gaz said, fluttering his eyelashes and clasping his hands by his face. “Are you gonna get me out of here?” 

Ghost snorted and pulled you close to him, firmly keeping you fixed to his front. 

“You wait here while we get Soap. We’ll get you both out at the same time.”

“This Soap guy sounds like an idiot. You should just leave him and take me away,” Gaz grinned, his character voice cracking as he laughed. 

“Don’t get too jealous, Garrick. I’ll be back for you soon enough,” Ghost rumbled. “I can take you then.” 

You blinked as you watched Ghost wink and felt your cheeks flush. The men had an easy friendship; not the kind you’d seen between the guys at Branhaven that were quick to shout ‘gay!’ If they had to shake another man’s hand. They certainly wouldn’t have pretended to flirt while on a training simulation with the Captain watching. 

Speaking of- 

“Get on with it,” Price drawled, making you jump as you remembered he was on the comms. 

With that, Ghost allowed you to lead the way to Soap while Gaz picked a spot to hide. You made your way easily through the streets, jointly taking down more of the men while they ran around in a frenzy.

After hearing all the gunshots they were like noisy wasps buzzing around, guns pointing out in front of them like angry stingers. They were sloppy though, and loud, easy targets for you both to tear through until you found Soap’s trail and sniffed him out to a fake multi story flat. 

You ascended the stairways and took all the men that stood in your way, checking each door and systematically destroying all your opposition until you found the door that Soap was behind. 

Sure enough you could sense his racing heart and smell that familiar warp of plastic and Sage and cigarettes. There were other smells there too though. More hostiles. You turned to Ghost and held up 3 fingers, letting him know about the others in the room. He nodded his head and quietly got to work bringing out a camera, allowing you both to see the position of your targets. 

Just like Gaz, there was a man holding a gun to Soap’s neck. One other man was pacing the room and the other was facing the doorway, ready to shoot. Ghost sighed out an annoyed breath and retrieved the camera, looking up to the ceiling as he thought about how to go ahead. 

“I’ll take out the one facing the doorway first. You take down the one with his gun to Soap and I’ll get the restless one after that.”

“But then Soap’ll get shot,” you murmured, not sure if this was one of the times you should be verbalising.

“We’ll both get shot if I leave someone facing us. Risking the hostage is a move we have to make, not like they’ll be any better off with us dead and one left with a gun in their hands.”

“You can shoot from the side and let me run at the one facing the door. He won’t swivel in time to get Soap.”

That was the kind of plan you were used to. Usually the human soldiers and the hostages took priority, while your life hung in the balance. It was mostly only saved by your incredible speed, sometimes your vest, as you weaved your way forward, bounding toward the enemy with unpredictable animal movements. 

“We go with my plan,” Ghost said firmly. “Take down the one by Soap on my signal.”

There was no room to disagree. You readied yourself and waited as Ghost kept his hands primed on the door. You breathed out and listened to him countdown, bolting through the doorway like a bullet when you saw it open wide enough. 

You beelined for the man over Soap and threw yourself at him, sending him flying backwards as you ripped into the foam. The man struggled at first, but settled on the ground once he saw the foam torn apart in your teeth and stared up wide eyed and silently.

Your heartbeat thrummed in your ears and you turned then, hurling yourself over to Soap and curling round him with a growl. Your hair stood up on your neck as you looked out for anyone that might crawl out the woodwork to attack him, ready to face a similar scenario just as you’d had with Gaz. Your limbs shivered with anticipation, ready to strike. You snarled out a bark, body expelling every bit of nervous energy it could. 

“Woah there wolfie,” Soap laughed, wrapping one of his big arms around your shoulders, curling his hand round your collar in a restraining grab. “You’re good, you got em all. You’ll terrify the shit out of a real hostage makin’ all tha noise.”

You huffed indignantly and settled back, letting your growls die out in your throat as you realised he was right. Ghost shot down the wanderer when you’d taken a protective stance of Soap, and now you were in a silent room with only fake dead men as your teammates stared intently at you. 

“Good job though, you really got that guy,” Soap affirmed, petting your head even more enthusiastically than Ghost, sending you grumbling and pinning your ears back as you felt your hair fill with static.

Soap jumped a little as he heard you, reeling back his arm and regarding you with a careful look. You fell silent as you saw him, frowning at his sudden show of fear. He was holding his hand to his chin, pulling it away quickly once he caught you staring.

In the darkness you swore you could make out a scar there. The light bounced off of the ridges and sparkled in his glassy eyes. 

“Jesus! Remind me not to cross this one,” Soap said breathily, shooting a nervous smile at Ghost. 

“Pup’ll remind you just fine,” ghost snorted, “got a good growl on ya, isn’t that right?” 

You shrugged and avoided his eyes, realising that you had been pretty noisy. Though you couldn’t help it when it came to all out confrontation. It made men quake in fear, made them sloppy. It was one of your best weapons, limited as you were to using your teeth and claws and, ever so occasionally, knives. 

“Come on then, you two. Best get moving.” 

You awkwardly stood away from Soap, trying not to scare him anymore than you already clearly had. Normally you wouldn’t worry about that sort of thing, but Soap hadn’t actually been mean to you yet and you didn’t want to provoke him into behaving that way. You'd already learned from your past mistakes. 

Once you’d all left the building, you regrouped with Gaz with little effort and Price had turned up the lights and rejoined you all. He praised you for your skills while reprimanding the others for messing about too much and then said the simulation would reset and everyone would switch a few more times. 

The day went on with you ‘rescuing’ the whole team at least once, allowing you to become acquainted with Price’s earthy tobacco and dove soap smell when it was his turn to play hostage. It didn’t take long until you didn’t need to smell their clothing before being sent out into the course. Ghost had had a turn, switching out with Price, and you found him easiest out of everybody, primed to seek out his citrusy orange peel scent like it was a second air source. You hadn’t needed the old balaclava that Price offered, shaking your head as you pulled him toward the entrance. 

Price had grunted and swore something awful while he took control of you, sending Ghost laughing over the comms. Ghost was nice enough to stay hooked up so that he could advise Price when needed. He told him to put a little pressure on the scruff of your neck if you pulled too much. He’d needed to do that a couple times as you raced ahead, trying valiantly to get to your proper handler while the Captain fought against your fast pace. You were so wrapped up in the situation, too far gone worrying about Ghost’s pretend capture, to even be scared when Price threatened to get a hobble for your legs if you didn’t behave.

It was a heavy day, by far one of the most intense training sessions you’d had in a while, but one filled with high praise that kept you raring to go. After having enough simulations that you lost count, all the running around and growling had burned your throat ragged and you were truly finished.

Ghost caught you almost doubling over with the effort it took to stay standing after the last bout and stuck his arm round you. He held you firmly to his hard vest as he petted your head and encouraged you to take a few breaths. 

“That’s it, take it easy, good pup. You’ve done so well today, you’ve impressed me,” he whispered, leaning down just so that you could hear him. “C’mon let’s get you outta that gear. Time for a break, hm?”

You nodded tiredly and looked up as the others glanced over at you both curiously. You didn’t have enough energy to be embarrassed while they watched Ghost help take your gear off. You just clung to him and groaned when the weight of your vest was removed and you were left in your uniform again. You couldn’t help shivering now that the cold air had started to seep in through the metal walls of the warehouse building. 

“Cold, Pup?” Price asked, voice gruff from all his shouting at the soldiers.

A lot of men had had to be reprimanded for screaming and struggling against you; all being told that if they acted like squeaky toys they were going to get bitten like squeaky toys. It certainly felt true as you struggled against yourself with each hour that ticked by, finding it harder and harder to resist the urge to attack. You wanted to do a good job, wanted to end the enemy and protect your pack. It took everything to remind the wolf in you that they weren’t the real enemy and your ‘pack’ were perfectly safe. 

You looked up to Price, suddenly very aware that you saw him differently now. You saw each of the 141 differently as you cast your eyes over them - saw them not as your deceptive antagonists, but something new…something you hadn’t encountered before. 

“It’s freezing in here,” you huffed, answering Price’s question honestly, without fear that he’d reprimand you for it. 

“Here, take this.”

Gaz stepped forward and pulled his hoodie out of his jacket, separating the sleeves before handing it to you. His scent drifted up from the fibres, piercing the cold air with its warmth. You took it gratefully, but tilted your head up at him, confused as to why he’d give it to you.

“But won’t you be cold?” You asked with a frown. 

“Nah, I’ve still got my jacket,” he said, wrapping his jacket around his back for emphasis, “take it, it’s fine.”

You bit your lips, mind racing as you lifted it up and wrapped it round yourself, noting how oversized it was as it crept down your legs. The soft grey material hugged the cold from your bones and you smiled, savouring the warmth that it offered. 

“Thanks Gaz,” you said, almost groaning as you felt your tail wag wildly from behind you. 

Something told you that you were going to be doing that a lot more often now… 

[mysteryshoptls]

SR Grim - Striped Ribbon Vignette

"The best time we can possibly have!"

[Ramshackle Dorm – Anniversary Party]

Grim: Wooooah. Ramshackle's all festive lookin' now! Take some pics with the ghost camera, [Yuu]!

Grim: When Ace and Deuce came over with the other first years this mornin', at first I was all, "What's goin' on!?"…

Grim: But looks like they were just puttin' up decorations for "Founding Day." What a bunch of kids, all super excited over somethin' like that.

You don't like Founding Day, Grim?

Grim: I-I didn't say that.

Grim: Night Raven College's a big-shot school that only lets chosen mages in. That means it's a huge deal to go to school here, right!?

Grim: There's no way any student here wouldn't be celebratin' Founding Day!

Well, so, it's great that they decorated everything so nicely for us, then.

Grim: …I guess.

Grim: But it was so crazy with how noisy everyone was. At least everything got done alright, thanks to my awesome leadership, though.

Grim: Didja see how Ace tried to skip doin' actual work, even though he's the one who came all on his own? He tried pullin' pranks on me again today, too!

What do you mean, "again"?

Grim: C'mon, you! Didn't you see him pickin' on me during flight class yesterday!?

Grim: When I was trying to fly on my broom, he tried to get in my way by using his wind magic to tickle me. He's so annoyin'!

Grim: He's obviously just jealous of my magical genius. I'm gonna show him who's the real boss one day!

Grim: Deuce was at least focusing on putting up the decorations, but he kept hanging the letters out of order… He's no better than Ace.

Grim: Oh yeah, that reminds me, the homework answer he gave me the other day was completely wrong and it got Crewel on our case, big time.

Grim: In the end, me 'n Deuce had to stay after for Crewel's special lessons. That guys should really do better on his studies.

I don't think you're one to talk.

Grim: Urgh… H-Hey, I've totally been taking my classes more seriously recently!

Grim: But in History of Magic, whenever Jack sits in front of me, I can't see the blackboard at all.

Grim: Plus, he's always sitting as straight up as he can despite him already being so huge, sayin' he needs to exercise his back muscles even in class.

Grim: If I say somethin' to him, he just says "Sit on [Yuu]'s shoulders" and doesn't budge one bit. He's such a muscle-brain.

Grim: Epel's gotta have the worst of it, seeing as he's in the same class as such a stubborn guy.

Grim: …Actually, Epel'd probably just snap back and pick a fight right away, huh.

Grim: He's a gutsy kid that hates to lose, after all.

Grim: We were sneakin' some food outta the cafeteria together the other day, too. We promised not to tell anyone, either… Boy, that sure was fun…

Grim: …Ah! Shoot, I just told you! That right now is a secret between us, okay!?

Grim: Speakin' of sneakin' food, Sebek's hard to deal with too! He's so stubborn, there's no use talkin' with him!

Grim: A little while ago, I tried just the tiiiiniest bit of some of his food, and he got super mad, yellin' and chasin' after me!

Grim: He just kept coming and he was shoutin' so loud my ears were starting to hurt real bad.

Grim: It was just one bite of his deluxe minced cutlet sandwich… Or was it five? Maybe ten bites?

I should probably apologize to him later…

[Ramshackle Dorm – Anniversary Party]

You look like you're really enjoying your time here at school, Grim.

Grim: Your little grin's creepin' me out, stop it. Well, what about you, then?

1. Every day is a blast, thanks to you.

Grim: Myahaha! Well, that goes without sayin'! Grim: And that's 'cause I'm here watchin' over and takin' care of you every day! Grim: …Good, good, you're enjoying yourself. Eheh.

2. I think I'm exhausted by all the trouble that happens every day…

Grim: My-Myaah!? Grim: What, does that mean you ain't havin' fun hangin' with me every day? I can't accept that! Grim: You'll see just how much I've been doin' for you! Just you wait!

Grim: …But hey, I guess I've gotten used to living in Ramshackle like this.

Grim: We're really doin' pretty good for ourselves in this run-down dorm.

Grim: That downpour the other day caused a huge mess the other day with all those leaks, though.

Grim: The bed and blankets were soakin' wet that I thought we'd have to sleep on the floor…

Grim: But luckily, one of the sofas made it through dry, so that was good. It was small and cramped, but way better than the floor.

Grim: We were able to patch things up with the help of the ghosts, but one day we definitely gotta get the school to cough up some dough to fix everything!

Definitely!

Grim: Yeah! We gotta make sure bein' here at this school's the best time we can possibly have!

[knock, knock]

Grim: Oh! Is that Ace 'n them?

Grim: We promised we'd all get together to celebrate Founding Day outside. I bet there's a feast planned, too!

Grim: Let's go, [Yuu]! Time for an outdoor party! Myaha!

Grim, let's keep at it together.

Grim: !

Grim: …Yeah! I'm definitely gonna keep lookin' after my little hench-human forever.

Grim: You just stick with me, [Yuu]!

Requested by @sweetdelightknight.

[midnightcake5]

I'm Not Him | One Shot

Ghost x FReader x Soap

Word:

TW: Death, Bomb, Car cash, Alcohol

so this base on dream i had and supposed be just throw away idea turn but into a fic (my first ever fic) and I don't had plan to continue it most becase I'm not to confident to do so (yet) and also where to take, so you folk had my permission to continue or rewritten the story if you like just give me credit if you do, please and thank you.

Anyway, thank you for reading.

"Come on, Y/N. The map says we are close." I am huffing and puffing, trying to catch up to Jenna, who is practically skipping this point. "Girl, slow down please, im begging you," I whine. "I'm literally holding ten bags and some of them are yours, may I add" She spun around. "Oh shit sorry, I forgot" She took some of her bags making me a little bit lighter. "thank you" I sigh in relief. "again I'm sorry, I'm just so excited, we are finally here, in London, can you believe it?" she said energetically. "I can, I am right here looking at it right now," I said nonchalantly but I'd be lying I'm not excited as well, as I looked around the streets and some of tall build and people walking by us, I couldn't even believe myself that we are here, it took us 3 years to save up and in those 3 years it was rough Jenna got let go for her job, well I was getting last shifts at work but we manage through. Jenna got a better job and I, well I did some odd jobs here or there but at the end of the day everything worked out at the end, standing here carrying five shopping that weights me down, the pain coming from my feet as we walk down the street of the town, The street lamp being turn on as the sun is setting down I feel proud of what we able to accomplish together and to myself. "ah there is" she point, I look where she point at. "A pub? You know I don't drink," I questioned her, but she looked at me with her bright smile. "I know, but the review said it was the best place to get fish n chips." "Well," I quickened my step. "I hope you're right because I'm starving."

When we open the wooden doors, a little bell chimes, alerting the bartender. "Ah, welcome, welcome! What can I get you pretty ladies?" we walked to the bar counter and finally sat down and Jenna began to speak to the bartender. "I hear you guys serve the best fish n chips in London" "That we do, that we do, for two of I'm guessing?" As he grabs his pen and flipnote. "Yes, please!" Janne said excitedly. "Oh alright then," he walked out of the bar counter to presumably give our orders to the kitchen. As we waited, I took in the atmosphere of the bar, it was cozy and rustic and had tons of knick-knacks, there were of few people here but nothing too cowered, not yet anyway. The bartender came back to the bar counter and he said. "Do ladies want any to drink as you wait?" "Beer, please," Jenna answered. "And pop, please," I said. "Oh alrighty" he turned his back to pour the beer. "im guessing you lovely ladies are tourists?" he asked. "Yup, from the great white north," Jenna said proudly he turned back to us to give Jenna her beer. "oh, Canadian eh" he teased as he grabbed my pop below the bar and hand to me. "it always nice seeing you people come to visit," he said. "Oi Jim, I need another pint!" shouted the customer. "I have been there in a sec!" the bartender shouted back. "I've been back with your guy's food later," and he walks to the end of the bar counter.

Jenna took a sip of her beer and made this questionable look. "Is everything ok?" I asked. "yeah, I just had better beers" she looked a little disappointed. "better-tasting shit out there" I joked she chunks a little before saying. "look who talking Little Miss I need five spoons of sugar and half a gallon of milk to drink a cup of coffee" she tese. "said little miss I got no taste buds" I tease back. "ok little miss I-" she stopped. "is everything all right Jenna?" I ask worriedly. "yeah I think all that walking finally caught up to me," she said as she sat up from the barstool. "im going to the washroom can you watch for my drink for me?" she asked I grab her beer and brings it close to my chest and said. "with my life" in a fake serious tone she giggles and brings to walk to the bathroom. While I was waiting for her to come back or our food, I began to look around a bit till I noticed, well, more like heard a man who was loudly talking, I looked. There were two men at the end of the bar counter, one was wearing a black hoodie and black face mask he just holding his drink and silently listened to the other men who had a mohawk and assumed to be Scottish or maybe Irish (I never could tell them apart a part) that is loudly chatting to men with the mask while swinging his drink like a magic wand as he tells his tale. "Oi, you should have seen his face! When I sucked him right in his fucking jaw Si" The man with mask, si, just simply nod and said. "serve him right" in a low rough voice. "AYE that I said to my sister but nooo she goes defending his arse by saying "he was just joking" or "You have to be the bigger person" All rubbish I say," he said.

I continue to eavesdrop on their conversation till I hear a woman shout. "LOOK OUT!" I turn around instinctively to see a white van through the window of the pub coming towards us. I got up the fastest I could ever while still holding a beer, but didn't get out crash zone in time, as the van crashed through the wooden door and windows. Made my side body hit the side of the bar counter. Instantly screw my eyes shut for impending pain but all I hear is gasp and breaking glass and I open my eyes slowly to see the damage not too bad as look down on my body im still standing up. I bar counter still holding the beer in my hand. Then the pain starts, more so on my left leg. I look down to see my leg sandwiched between the front wheels of the van and the bar counter. Before I could even try to get out. I saw Jenna run out of the bathroom and look in horror when she saw me and the van next to me, and she shouted. "OH MY GOD, ARE YOU OKAY!?" I look at her and weakly smile. "I don't know, but I save your beer!" I said proudly and raised the beer above my head. Jenna looked less horrified but still worried. She began to walk to me but stopped by Si. There was silence for just sec and in those seconds I heard it. A ticking noise from the van. Then he yelled. "EVERYONE GET OUT OF BUILT NOW," and with that,t everybody starts racing to exit. I try to run too, but to my horror, my leg is stuck. Jenna noticed too and try to go off to help me but got grabbed by Si. "what the fuck think you are doing?!" he ask in a harsh tone. "she stuck, I need to help her!" she panic. Si looked at me with the darkest brown eyes I have ever seen, and looked back at Jenna and said quietly, "Leave her." Jenna yelled. "WHAT?! and then the man with a mohawk steps in. "what the fuck Si?!" as Si practically drags Jenna to the exit. "there isn't enough time!" he yells. "Fuck that! I help her," the man with a mohawk yells back and runs towards me. Si scream. "JOHNNY!" " I will be fine Si!, go help the other!" Johnny shouted back as he tried to pull my leg out of this death trap im in. Si just stood there for a second but snapped out and pulled Jenna and headed for the exit. "it okay lass, I'm going get you out here" as Johnny continues to try to pull me out, I could only respond is. "okay" I'm trying my hardest not show I am panicking right now, so I distracted myself by looking down at Johnny, I didn't notice how muscular he was and sure did saw it when I was eavesdropping but it looks more pronounced up close. I got ripped out of my ogling by bone-breaking pain. Johnny finally pulled out my leg. Before I tried to attempt to run on my broken leg, Johnny instantly picked me up and put me over his back like I weighed a potato sack, then again, I should've been surprised. He ran towards the exit, we were so close but yet so far away. I saw a bright light, then I felt the heat and then darkness.

I opened my eyes to see darkness around me, and there was little light, like stars, and I was floating in mid-air. I kind of just floated to let it sink in, and then it hit me like a baseball bat. The sorrow, the anger, the fear, and finally, confusion, all of it, hit me at once, the emotions I should have expressed during my last moment, but didn't. I already knew I was likely dead, but didn't stop feeling for flowing in, all I could think about was how upset my family would be, especially my mom, I could already hear my mom's wails at hearing her baby was dead. Then I started thinking about Jenna, my roommate, my best friend, god, I know she will think this is her fault, but it wasn't, hell, she was willingly risking her own life just to help me before Si stopped her, and I'm glad he did. Then think about the men who try to save me. Johnny was his name, is the guy feels upset about most, knowing im the one that caused his death, all because he wanted to help me, but selfishly, im glad he did because I didn't die alone, but im alone now in this space like a vortex. I floated there in my own pity party for a good ten in till I felt something tug me. I looked down, and there were strings or strands looping around my waist and tugging toward something. I kind of just accepted it at this point because im already dead, so worse can get (well, maybe hell). Also, im a bit curious where this will go. So keep tugging me close and close to something glowing, and the closer I got, the more it shaped like a person, till I had to shut my eyes, how bright it got.

The brightness finally died down, so I opened my eyes to see a cell light, and what I could see in the corner of my eyes, is a heart monitor and an IV fluid. So, from observation, I survived from the explosion and am recovering in the hospital. Then felt something squeezing my hand, and I looked down to see Si holding my hand with both of his. he looked so tense and pitiful. He finally looked up at me, something I noticed he was still wearing the same black face mask but a different hoodie, a green one, and I could see a spike of blonde hair under his hood. "Johnny," he said softly as he placed my hand on the side of his face. I was a bit confused till I saw my arm, it had more muscle, and there tattoo on my forearm. This isn't my arm, this isn't my body, this is Johnny.

[sissylittlefeather]

It Feels So Right (how can it be wrong?): Part 1

A/N: a new 3-part mini-series that was supposed to be a one-shot but got too long 😂. This is gonna be a fun one. I hate to give too much away up here, but just know we've got Austin filming Elvis, ghost Elvis, and you...

Shoutout to my beloved @ccab for hatching this one with me one late night. I love you, bestie.

Warnings: 18+ minors DNI! This is gonna stay dirty. Kissing, cussing, fingering, oral sex (m & f receiving), p in v penetrative sex, unprotected sex, creampie

Word count: ~3.2k

Honestly, you're a glorified assistant. Your job has a technical title, but you spend most of your time getting coffee and running errands for anyone on set who asks you. It's very rarely the actors. Usually, you're at the whim of everyone behind the cameras. You've been graduated from college for five years and you're just waiting for your shot in the film industry. In a lot of ways, you're blessed just to be on the set of this movie, so you swallow your pride and fetch lattes for every grip and sound guy that hollers for one.

Admittedly, you don't know as much about it as you probably should, but watching the filming has you convinced this Austin Butler will be up for an Oscar. You know Elvis and this guy has him nailed. You've seen footage of him a thousand times and Austin's performance seems to line up perfectly.

What you don't know, what no one but Austin knows, is Elvis is there. He stands and watches, not far from you actually, and in crucial moments, he takes over. Usually, he doesn't leave the sanctuary of Graceland, but when he heard about this movie, he knew it was an opportunity. And when he saw Austin and his dedication to the role, he knew that he'd be open enough for him to step in when he wanted. The first time he tried it, he shifted from one foot to the other for a few seconds and jumped, not knowing exactly what would happen. He opened his eyes and looked at his hands. They were close, similar long fingers, but not quite right. His body was thinner, more cut, and his face felt different. He called for a break and made his way to a place with a mirror. When he cautiously chanced a glance, he was shocked to see Austin's face looking back at him. It worked. He knew possession was possible, he was a ghost after all, but he'd never tried it before this. After the scene was finished, he decided the experience was so satisfying, he'd try it again. So he did. Over and over again throughout the filming process Austin would wake up with no memory of doing certain scenes. He figured out quickly what was happening and didn't seem to mind, so when he turned on set and saw Elvis, he wasn't even alarmed. Elvis had been surprised to be seen after all these years, but it didn't take the two long to strike up a friendship.

By the time Elvis noticed you, he'd been talking to Austin and possessing him regularly for weeks.

You come back from your morning coffee run and set the tray on a table.

"Coffee's here, guys!" You holler to everyone whose order you diligently fetched. For some reason, this time, you catch Elvis's attention. He watches, amused, as you sarcastically deliver all the coffees.

"Who is she?" He whispers to Austin.

"I'm not sure. I think her name is y/n. She gets coffee for the behind-camera guys." Austin answers nonchalantly.

"Have you actually looked at her?"

"I'm way ahead of you, man."

"You asked her out?"

"Not yet, but-"

"What are you waiting for?!" Austin looks at Elvis exasperated.

"I've been a bit busy."

"Can I?"

"Can you what?"

"Take her out." Austin laughs quietly.

"I don't know. Can you?" Elvis sighs.

"Can I use your body, I mean?"

"To go on a date? With a living girl? I'm not sure that's a reasonable plan." Elvis nods, defeated, and Austin walks back out on set to continue filming.

But Elvis can't stop watching you. He hovers around you, longing to be seen. You have an undeniable grace that has him damn-near spellbound. Austin pretends not to notice Elvis's preoccupation with you. He has plans to ask you out himself, eventually.

But Elvis gets tired of waiting. There's not too much left to film and he doesn't want to miss his chance. So one day, he jumps into Austin to film a scene during the '68 Special and just... doesn't leave. Instead, he swallows his nervousness and walks up to you at the end of the day.

"Hi. I'm... Austin." He holds a hand out for you to shake.

"Oh, gosh, I know, I'm y/n." You can't believe one of the actors knows you exist, much less is talking to you. And it's Austin Butler in black leather.

"I've been watching you. And I- okay that sounds creepy. You're just very pretty and I was wondering if, maybe, you'd like to go out with me? Tonight?"

"Oh wow... tonight?" You have a bed with your name on it and a pizza you plan to order, but this is Austin Butler and he's asking you out.

"Yeah..." Elvis isn't going to take the chance that Austin might refuse to let him take you out.

"Sure? I mean. Yes. I'd love to go out with you." A warm smile spreads across Austin's face and you can't believe how relieved he seems. Truly, it's Elvis, but you don't know that.

"Okay! Great! Can I pick you up in a couple hours?" Elvis isn't sure how he'll stay in Austin for this long, but he's going to try his best.

You nod and give Austin your address. Then, you make your way home completely in awe of the fact that you have a date with Austin Butler tonight.

******

Later that night, there's a knock on your door and you put the last minute touches on your makeup and walk to it to open it. When you do, you're a little shocked to find Austin with his hair fixed like Elvis, in a suit with the shirt unbuttoned half way down his chest and a thick gold cross sitting on his sternum. For some reason, this outfit doesn't feel like him. And it's not; it's 100% Elvis, but you have no way of knowing that.

"You ready, doll?" Why does he even sound like Elvis?

"Yeah, lemme just grab my purse."

You spend the rest of the evening on one of the best first dates you've ever experienced. Conversation comes easily to both of you, and you think it's unbelievably endearing that he takes you to a diner, and a movie, and a roller skating rink.

You've never been good at roller skating, so you spend most of the time hanging on him and trying to keep your balance.

Elvis is in heaven. He hasn't had this much fun in almost 5 decades. And the feeling of your hands on his skin and your body pressed up against his, even if it's not exactly his, is something he's desperately missed. When it's time to take you home, he's dying to take you inside and feel more of you on him, but he doesn't want to push you or take advantage of you in any way. Instead, he walks you to the door and stands with you awkwardly under the awning of your apartment complex.

"This was really fun." You want to ask him inside, but you're not sure if that would be too slutty. Still, he's a movie star, he has to be used to that. Right?

"Yeah, it was." You notice his eyes flick down to your lips, so you turn your face up to signal that he can kiss you. Elvis gets suddenly nervous. He hasn't kissed anyone in a very long time. After a few seconds, you realize he's not going to kiss you, so you step back.

"Oh... I'm sorry..." Elvis wants to kick himself for missing the window.

"For what, doll?"

"Nothing, I just thought... it's nothing." He takes a deep breath and remembers who he is. Then, he reaches out and grabs you by the waist, pulling you into him. He crashes his lips into yours and kisses you deeply. It's weird to kiss with someone else's mouth, but it doesn't take him long to figure it out.

You revel in the fact that Austin Butler is kissing you. You.

After you make out on the porch for a good fifteen minutes, you pull back from the kiss and look up into his eyes.

"Do you... wanna come in...?"

"Can I?" Elvis is shocked that you'd ask that so soon. Then, he remembers that it's not 1956 anymore. 1969 happened... he was there... and women are different now.

"Yeah... if you want to..." You start to get nervous that maybe you've made him uncomfortable. "You don't have to-"

"Yes. Please. I'd like that." You nod and smile and turn to open the door. He swallows deeply as you lead him into your apartment. It's been a long time since he's kissed someone, but it's been even longer since he did this. And kissing is easier to do well without practice.

You turn to him and take his hand, leading him to the bedroom. Is it possible that Austin is shy? He seems a little nervous to be headed that way with you.

"Do you not want to do this?" You stand facing each other next to the bed and look up into his eyes as he nods fervently.

"I do. I really do. I just... haven't... in a while..."

"Oh. Well, that's okay." Elvis smiles with Austin's face. He reaches out and fiddles with your shirt on your shoulder. Then, he moves his hand up to your cheek and runs his thumb over your lips.

"I just never thought this would be possible."

"What do you mean?" Elvis's heart jumps.

"Oh, umm, just, I've been watching you for a long time. I didn't think you'd want to go out with me." You smile and Elvis relaxes. He leans in slowly and presses his lips to yours again. He's surprised by how easy it is to fall back into a rhythm with you as the kissing ramps up and his hands, Austin's hands, begin to roam over your body. Without thinking, he slides them up under your shirt, dragging them across your back. He wants to lift your shirt and pull it off, but again, he's not sure just how far you're willing to go. Seemingly reading his mind, you remove your shirt for him.

You're shocked at how shy Austin is. You assumed he'd take the lead, but he seems reluctant even to take your shirt off. You push his jacket off of his shoulders and it falls to the ground. Your fingers go to the buttons and you take his shirt off too.

"Wow..." It comes out of you as a whisper while you run your fingertips over Austin's rippling abdominal muscles. Elvis looks down at himself and flexes his stomach as you touch him. This is different, but seeing the way you look at him, he's not exactly complaining. Bodies like this weren't common in his day, but he's thankful for Austin's dedication to diet and exercise in this moment. Something about it boosts his confidence and he reaches behind your back to remove your bra, but his fingers fumble. He peeks over your shoulder and eventually figures it out, pulling your bra forward off of you and dropping it to the floor. His hands slide to your breasts hungrily and he realizes how much he's missed the softness of a woman's skin against him. He pulls you in close and his kisses reach a fever pitch as he begins to move his mouth down your body. You revel in the sensation of his tongue on your nipple, throwing your head back in pleasure.

He turns you and lays you down on the bed, scooting you backwards and crawling on top of you. You arch your back as he kisses your stomach gently, finally landing at the place between your bellybutton and the top of your skirt. He hooks his fingers under your waistline and looks up at you, blue eyes wide with lust.

"Can I?"

"Yes. Please." He smiles softly and slides your skirt down your legs, removing your shoes at the same time.

"Mmmm." He groans as he holds one of your feet in his hand and kisses your ankle. You have beautiful feet and this is just another thing Elvis has missed about being with a woman. He feels his erection throbbing where it presses against the fabric of his pants. This creates a new sense of urgency in him and he hooks your panties with one finger between your legs and drags them off, quickly tossing them to the side. Now you're completely naked and he just stares at you for a minute. He was right to take this chance. You're worth it.

"What?"

"Nothing. You're just incredibly beautiful. I don't think I've ever wanted a woman this badly." You feel the blood rush to your cheeks and your core. He's unbelievable and if he's not careful, he'll have you head over heels for him. You sit up and begin to unbutton his pants, but he stops you. "This first, honey. Come here." He lays with his head on your pillow and pulls you to him, situating your hips above his face. He puts both hands on your ass and pulls your clit to his lips.

"Oh, fuck!" You grab the headboard while he goes to work licking and sucking you like his life depends on it. His tongue makes tantalizing circles on your sensitive button and you want to scream it feels so good. Elvis can tell by your reaction that he hasn't lost his touch, even if he is technically using someone else's mouth to do it. You look down at Austin with his face buried in your pussy, eyes closed like he's truly enjoying what he's doing. He slides first one and then two fingers into you and pumps them in and out while his tongue moves on you fervently.

"Oh, God, Austin, I'm gonna cum!" For a second, he forgets that he's Austin and his eyes pop open, but he adjusts quickly as your orgasm slams into you and your walls pulse around his fingers. Electricity explodes in your core and shoots lightning bolts to your fingertips in exquisite waves. When you finally come back down, you fall sideways off of him and lay on the bed. He wipes his face with his hand and sits up next to you.

"How was that, doll?"

"Oh. My. God." That's all you can get out and he smiles widely. He's still got it.

He stands up next to the bed, kicks off his shoes, and drops his pants and underwear. This is the first time he's looked down at himself and seen Austin's cock. Elvis is a little in shock. Not only is it huge, it's circumcised. He hopes it'll work the same way. Before he has too much more time to think about it, though, he looks up and you're on your knees in front of him.

You hold the base of him with one hand, put the other on his ass, and lick a circle around the tip.

"Fuck, y/n." Yep, it works the same way.

You slide as much of him as you can stand into your mouth, letting him hit the back of your throat. His head falls back and his mouth opens as you continue to work on him, bouncing and sucking and running your tongue along his shaft. Elvis is in heaven with your mouth around him and as much as he never wants it to stop, he wants to feel the rest of you too. Still, he reaches down and takes a handful of your hair as you let him thrust gently into your mouth for a bit. Then, he stops and stands you up, looking down into your eyes.

"Can I make love to you?" Your heart skips. No one has ever asked you that before.

"Yes. Yes, please." You lay back down on the bed together and he lines himself up with your entrance. His heart is pounding in anticipation. It's been so long.

He begins to push into you slowly, letting you stretch to accommodate his size. You moan softly as the sensation almost overwhelms you. When he's fully filling you, he pulls back slowly and thrusts forward again, groaning at the feeling of your tightness around him. He picks up a steady pace of fucking into you and you wrap your legs around his waist. Elvis is impressed with Austin's body and his ability to thrust without getting tired. It's been a very long time since he had that kind of youthful vitality.

"Yes, yes, yes!" You cry out breathlessly as he pounds you.

"God, y/n, it's so good." He moans again and kisses you deeply, feeling his orgasm begin to build in his hips. You're teetering just on the edge too, breasts bouncing with his rhythm. His cock is perfect to hit just the right spot inside you as he drives into you.

You feel him tense up as he slams into you one last time, throwing you over the edge into oblivion as well. You throb around him as he shoots you full of his warmth and shudders his hips into you. He relaxes and sets his head on your shoulder, both of you sweating and breathing heavily. After a few seconds, he slides out of you and lays next to you on the bed.

He's dying to tell you that he's Elvis and not Austin. He wants you to know that it's him. But he's afraid that would freak you out too much, so he keeps his mouth shut. Instead, he turns to look at you and you look back into Austin's face.

"That was amazing." You say, smiling. He smiles in return.

"It really was."

"Do you wanna... stay...?" You feel like you should know better than to ask, but you do anyway. Elvis knows he can't hold onto Austin when he sleeps, though. He'd be shocked to wake up here with you with no memory of how he got here.

"I wish I could, doll, but I can't. I'd love to do this again sometime, though."

"Yeah?" He rolls over and runs his fingertips down the side of your face.

"Yes. I really would." He leans in and kisses your lips softly. Then, he sighs deeply and rolls over, getting out of bed and putting his clothes on. It doesn't seem like he wants to leave, but he does anyway. He kisses you at the door again, tucking a stray piece of hair behind your ear.

"I'll see you soon, doll." You think to yourself that you'll see him tomorrow at work, but you don't say that part out loud. He walks through the door and you close it softly behind him.

He stays in Austin just long enough to get him home and in bed, laying there for a bit thinking about the encounter he just had with you. Elvis hasn't had a better day in over 50 years. Finally, his eyes close and Elvis pulls himself out, letting Austin sleep.

He's nervous about how he'll react when he finds out Elvis used his body to go out with you, but what's done is done. And he has every intention of begging to let it happen again.

******

Until part 2. Thoughts?

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Taglist:

@ccab @elvisfatass @elvisalltheway101 @aliypop @18lkpeters @dkayfixates @tacozebra051 @your-nanas-house @deniseinmn @joshuntildawn13 @lookingforrainbows @60svintage @littlehoneyposts @epthedream69 @louisejoy86 @rjmartin11 @from-memphis-with-love @deltafalax

[gotta-whump-them-all]

Ignoring the fact I've been gone for over a year, here's a whump prompt I like. <3

Whumpee is so used to how their Whumper would react to situations that now they are with Caretaker, they assume that Caretaker will react the same.

While Caretaker was out, Whumpee accidentally bumped into an end table, which teetered and then fell over. When it fell over, the lamp that had been sitting on it shattered.

Whumpee immediately panicked, worried about how Caretaker would punish them, just how Whumper used to. It was like Whumpee could feel the burn of the coord lashing into him and the sting of glass imbeding into their skin.

There were two things that Whumpee could do in this situation...

A. Hide the broken lamp in hopes of Caretaker not noticing it's absence. If Caretaker did end up finding the lamp, it would only make the punishment worse in the end.

B. Wait for Caretaker to get home and immediately tell him what happened. There was always two ways it would go. If Whumper had a bad day, they wouldn't hesitate to beat Whumpee, but if they had a good day then they would go much easier on Whumpee.

Whumpee chose the former, hoping that Caretaker had no sentimental attachment to that lamp.

It took Whumpee only a few minutes to clean up the mess; pick up the end table, sweep up the glass, and hide the remnants of the lamp in a drawer hidden away in a closet that had been opened only once or twice since Whumpee had been here.

It was a couple hours later when Caretaker got back from work and at most five minutes of Caretaker being back for him to call out to Whumpee. "Hey, Whumpee! Have you seen the lamp?"

Whumpee broke down, hiding inside of the closet in his room, holding his breath, praying that Caretaker wouldn't find him.

From down the hall, Caretaker called out again. "Whumpee?"

Whumpee could hear the sound of Caretaker's socked feet hitting the floor as he walked down the hall, directly to Whumpee's room.

Right outside his room, Caretaker spoke, voice quiet. "Whumpee, you in there?"

Whumpee couldn't help but sob out, tears trickling down his cheeks. Caretaker pushed open the door and then walked up to the closet, pushing the door to the side.

Caretaker looked down at Whumpee, then quickly dropped down to his knees to Whumpee's level. "Oh, Whumpee, you poor thing."

In wasn't even a second and Whumpee was wrapped in a warm hug. Whumpee sobbed into Caretaker's neck, wetting the collar of his button up. "I-I'm sorry Caretaker. I broke it. I-it was an accident. I p-promise it won't happen again."

Caretaker shushed and coed Whumpee, swaying Whumpee in his arms, telling him that it was okay. "It was an accident, Whumpee. I know you didn't mean to Whumpee. You're not in trouble."

Those last words, "you're not in trouble", made Whumpee break down all over again.

Alt for if Whumpee had told Caretaker immediately when he got home::

Whumpee had been kneeling for hours apon hours on the hardwood floor at the front door. His knees most definitely had bruises littered across them.

When Caretaker finally got home, he was met with Whumpee he looked pale as a ghost and had almost gotten slapped in the face by the front door.

"Whumpee, what's going on-?"

Caretaker had barely enough time to finish his sentence when Whumpee started speaking quickly, like his life depended on it.

"I broke the lamp, I'm so sorry. It was an accident. It won't happen again."

Whumpee's eyes were facing the ground, but Caretaker could still see he was bug eyed and frantic. He reached out his arms and hands, wrists turned up, exposed to Caretaker.

For a few seconds, Caretaker was taken aback, he didn't know what to say.

"That's no problem, Whumpee. It's just a lamp. I'm not going to be angry at you for accidentally breaking something."

Whumpee didn't move, head still tucked down and wrists still out. Caretaker reach out to Whumpee, but quickly retracted his hands when Whumpee flinched hard.

Caretaker sat down next to Whumpee and they sat like that for so long. Caretaker not wanting to move as to not scare Whumpee and Whumpee to scared to move as to not anger Caretaker.

The cycle of silence finally stopped when Whumpee let his body relax, leaning into Caretaker and letting the tears he had been holding back for so long, fall.

[adoreispunk]

Out Of Reach (joel miller au)

He breaks from me, his lips perfectly wet and red as he looks up at me. He slips two fingers in to not stop the sensation. "Always taste so good for me, would do this all day if you let me."

wc: 4.0K

content warning: 18+ MDNI.

an: holy shit i’ve been moving for the past couple weeks, finally settled so heres 4K words of pure sex to celebrate. enjoy;)

Eleven

I stared out the window for a while, watching the sky turn from soft peach to a deep blue, my fingers still clenched around the strap of my bag in my lap. The ghost of my dad's words still clung to me.

I peeked over at Joel, the curve of his jaw lit by the last light bleeding through the windshield. He looked completely unfazed. Like he hadn't just sat across from the one man who would absolutely murder him if he ever found out what we were doing.

"You good?" he asked without looking over, his voice low, like he already knew I wasn't.

"I think I aged five years back there," I muttered.

That made him huff a small sarcastic laugh. "Could've fooled me."

I turned to look at him. "You didn't say anything! You barely even flinched when he asked if we've been spending time together."

"'Cause we have," Joel said simply, shrugging like it was obvious. "And I told him that."

"You said we've been working."

He gave me a quick side glance, and the corner of his mouth ticked up. "You've been putting in some work for sure."

I shoved his arm playfully, trying not to laugh. "Fuck you."

I really got a chance to fully take him in, he looked too good tonight. He had on a short sleeve shirt that hugged his arms, his hair was perfectly messy, and his hand flexed on the wheel while the other rested loosely on my thigh exposed by my white eyelet dress I picked out for him. Drawing light circles. His jaw flexed every time he shifted lanes and the dim dashboard light carved shadows across the lines of his face.

All week we'd kept dancing around actually fucking. Teasing and tempting. But being in this truck alone, knowing I'd be sleeping at his house tonight mixed with the nerves from the interaction with my dad gave me a shot of confidence. I was ready to start pulling the tension tighter, just to see if he'd finally snap.

"I'm bored, how far are we?" I asked, in a lowered and innocent voice.

Joel glanced at me, brows knitting like he wasn't sure if I was serious or just trying to start something. "Five minutes."

I shifted in my seat, turning my body more toward him. "You know, I don't know how much more of this waiting game I can take."

He didn't respond right away, just clenched his jaw and exhaled through his nose. The air in the truck felt hotter suddenly.

I reached over, dragging my fingers slow across the inside of his forearm, moving down to just above his waistband

"Maybe, I could just get a head start." I said looking up at him with doe eyes.

His grip on the wheel tightened. I leaned in closer, placing some kisses to his neck and ear.

"Olivia." he warned, low and rough, glancing down at me. His dick getting harder just from the way I was talking and barely touching him.

"What? I'm just saying, waiting is hard..."

I finally move my hands to touch his dick, rubbing up and down his print. His jaw going slack from the contact.

"So fucking hard."

I finally start to unbuckle his pants and we barely make space so I can take him into my mouth. The way he fills it up perfectly makes me crazy

Joel's breath caught as I slid down, enough to take him all the way into my throat. He instantly clenched the steering wheel tighter, his jaw flexing.

"Jesus, babygirl keep doin' that. Keep your head down."

He gave me quick glances while trying to keep his eyes on the road . His eyes dark, brows furrowing, and jaw slack as he saw the playful confidence in my expressions.

"You couldn't wait five minutes for me? Need me that badly huh?" He exhaled sharply, his voice dropping lower.

I break free for a moment, still working my hands up and down. Just how i've learned he's liked.

"Get me home and fuck me Joel."

I earn a loud grunt from him like he's holding back from finishing just from my words. I don't put my mouth on him again, I want this same energy to stay until we turn into his house. I keep moving my hands up and down slowly, licking around his tip, cleaning up the beads of precum coming from him.

I don't even register him putting the car into park until I feel the jolt, like he didn't even wait for the car to stop to switch gears. I let out a little yelp and he grabs my neck for me to look up at him, his eyes dark and tempting.

"Get up and get the fuck inside."

My breath hitched.

The grip he had on my neck was firm, holding me still. Like he knew I'd try to say something back, like he was daring me to. I just stared at him, so turned on. I rubbed my thighs together just to release some pressure.

I nodded. Then I slipped out of the truck in silence, pulse hammering in my ears, every inch of me buzzing like I'd been lit up from the inside. Joel didn't say another word. I could feel him behind me. He walked me up to the door, his hand pressing low on my back, guiding me, like he owned every step I took. My fingers fumbled on the hem of my dress, the porch light casting long shadows across the wood.

The second the door cracked open, he was on me. He didn't wait. One strong hand gripped my waist, the other slammed the door shut behind us. Then I was against the wall, my back hitting it hard enough to knock the breath from me for a second.

He kissed me like he'd been starving for it. Everything I'd done this past week, every look, every touch, every soft little noise I'd made was catching up to him all at once. My legs spread without thinking, hands gripping his shoulders, his shirt, anything to hold onto.

He scooped me up not breaking the kiss and I wrap my legs around his waist holding onto him, moaning at the contact. I wrap my hands around his neck tangling my fingers into his hair just to feel closer.

Joel's grip on me tightened, his strength undeniable as he held me up with just one arm, the other swinging loosely at his side like he didn't need it. His breath was warm against my skin as he pulled back just enough to look at me, his eyes dark with intensity. He swallowed hard, his voice low and rough.

"You think I didn't wanna fuck you all week? You think I didn't feel how close we were getting, how badly I wanted to, right there in my office?"

He leaned in pressing more kisses to my cleavage. "I wanted you like this, you can scream as loud as you want. Not just some quick fuck on my desk."

The way he said it made my heart race, my whole body just completely ready. I could barely breathe, my hands gripping his shirt, grinding against him, trying to pull him closer. " I know, I know. I want you too. Please, Joel."

He stops my begging with a kiss, bringing his free hand to touch me over the black lace underwear he asked for. I moan against his mouth so relieved from his touch.

He smiles against my lips, "You wore them for me? Good girl." He

didn't even have to look at them, just the feel of them and he knew.

He's already ruining me.

He finally starts walking towards the stairs, still grabbing me with one hand like he wasn't even trying. Our kisses become more desperate and rough the closer we get to the top of the stairs.

The moment he pushed open the door, I took in the space, even as my body was still pressed tight to his. Joel's room felt like him. Dark, solid, and grounded. The walls were a charcoal blue, the wood floors creaking softly under his boots. A large bed sat against the far wall, made neatly with lighter sheets and a thick, heavy-looking comforter. The furniture was simple and wooden.

There were a few clothes draped over the chair in the corners. Nothing messy, just lived-in. A nightstand held a small lamp casting a warm, amber light. Framed photos lined the dresser: one of Sarah, young and smiling with the same beautiful hair I remember her having. And another of Joel with a man who looked just like him. Tommy, probably. The one he'd talked about the other day.

Everything in here felt intimate. It suddenly hit me how much of himself Joel was letting me see. not just physically, but this too. His personal space.

He didn't let me linger for long. Reality hit when my back hit the mattress and I felt Joel climb on top of me again, hearing the door slam in the back.

He slipped his hand up the side of my thigh pushing my dress up and sucked on the side of my neck. I let out a moan, letting him know how good he was making me feel in this moment.

His hands were so big, they practically swallowed my waist. Rough and sure like he knew exactly how to handle me. The weight of them made me feel safe, like nothing could touch me as long as he was holding on.

I gripped and dug my nails onto his arms for some sort contact, my fingers not even close to spanning the width of his biceps. He was solid beneath me, all muscle and heat, and the sheer size difference made my breath catch in my throat.

He finally started to back away from me. My body started to follow him from desperation "Joel—"

"Lay back babygirl, I wanna take care of you."

My cheeks go hot, I nod at him and do what he says. I bring my arms up and cross my hands over my face biting the side of my thumb. He moves the other side of my dress up, the skirt pooling over my waist now. I feel his fingers slide up against the lace, stopping his thumb at my clit and drawing small circles. I make a small moan in return.

"Fuck, 'so pretty in these. Wanna see all of you" He starts working his hands up to the waistband and slowly works them off. I look down at him, not wanting to miss any of this. As he takes them off, a string of my wetness follows.

"So wet for me already." He brings his hands around my legs, pulling me closer to him in a quick motion. Without thinking twice, I feel his lips on me. Taking all of me onto his mouth.

"Oh my god, fuck Joel—." He swirled his tongue around me deliberately and with so much lust. It's not his first time going down on me, but something about being completely alone, on his bed, feeling safe makes everything feel a hundred times more intense.

He breaks from me, his lips perfectly wet and red as he looks up at me. He slips two fingers in to not stop the sensation. "Always taste so good for me, would do this all day if you let me."

"Fuck—it's all yours, I wanna...cum for you please."

"So good beggin for me." He brings his fingers out of me and grabs the small of my back, pulling me up towards him. Stopping right when my chest hits his.

"Say it again" He says, forehead pressed to mine, lips barely touching.

"I wanna cum for you Joel." I reply, completely ready to be ruined already.

Joel pulls me back in, sliding up the rest of my dress and throwing it somewhere in the room. He takes off my matching black lace bra that he wanted me in and his hands follow to cup my cleavage. His hands rough compared to my soft skin.

Joel pulled his shirt over his head in one rough motion, and I realized it's my first time seeing him shirtless. His chest was wide, solid, lined with muscle that moved beneath his skin when he tossed the fabric aside. He wasn't sculpted like someone who lived in a gym. He was built like a man who carries hundreds of pounds of building material everyday. His stomach was strong, just a little soft at the edges. I couldn't look away, my hands already itching to map every inch of him.

Joel noticed. I could tell by the faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth but he didn't say a word. He let me look like he was used to being wanted but didn't need to hear about it. That's Joel.

He didn't let me linger long before his mouth was back on mine. My hands grab at his pants, unbuckling them again. He follows with his boxers, his dick hard and throbbing at this point. He kicks them off and I finally feel pure skin on mine. Caged in by his forearms holding him up.

"Fuck, your body is unreal." He says in his rough and lustful tone. I finally see him reach for his dick, and I whimper in anticipation.

Joel Miller is finally gonna fuck me.

He teased me first, sliding himself through my folds, slick and slow, drawing a moan from my lips. "Joel, please," I begged, my hips lifting, needing him.

He didn't make me wait any longer. With one slow, deliberate thrust, he pushed inside, filling me so completely. I gasped, my nails digging into his arms. The stretch was intense and perfect. He groaned in response to the fit, his forehead dropping to mine. "Fuck," he rasped, his voice wrecked. "So fuckin tight."

I couldn't speak, just clung to him, my legs wrapping around his waist as he started to move. Slow at first, deep, each thrust stealing my breath. I could feel the tension in him, the way his hands gripped my hips, like he was taking everything in.

"Harder," I pleaded, my voice breaking as I rocked against him. "Fuck me harder."

His eyes darkened, something primal flickering in them. Realizing he could let go. He hooked my leg over his shoulder, opening me wider, and slammed into me, the force making me cry out. The bed creaked and the headboard rattling. All I could feel was him, his weight, his heat, the way he hit that spot inside me with every thrust.

"Harder?" he growled, his voice filthy as he picked up the pace, relentless. "Not even letting me take my time with you. Want it that bad?”

"Fuck—yes," I gasped, my nails raking down his arm, leaving marks I knew he'd feel later. "Don't stop."

He didn't. His hand slid between us, finding my clit, rubbing tight circles that made my vision blur. The pleasure was overwhelming, coiling tight, and I was already so close. "Look at you," he said, his voice low. "All that talk and you're already gonna cum? Already know that spot."

He moves his hand and pushes himself against the spot that makes me moan in response. "Yeah? Feel good right there huh?"

"Yeah, fuck, right there."

His hand slid up my spine, fingers tangling in my hair, tugging just enough to make me arch. The slight sting sent a fresh wave of heat through me. The intensity was overwhelming. Joel's thrusts were relentless, each one deeper, harder, claiming me in a way that made my head spin. My moans mixed with his low, guttural groans, filling the quiet of his room.

"Not yet," he murmured, his voice rough but softer, like he was savoring every second of this.

Before I could process, he rolled us, his back hitting the mattress, and suddenly I was on top, straddling him. My breath caught at the shift, my hands bracing against his chest as I looked down at him. His hands gripped my thighs, steadying me, his thumbs brushing the sensitive skin where my hips met my legs.

"Ride me," Joel said, his voice low, commanding, like he needed this as much as I did. "Wanna watch you cum like this."

My pulse hammered, a new wave of heat flooding me at his words, at the way he looked at me. His chest was broad and the feel of it under my palms grounded me. I shifted, adjusting to the angle, and the way he filled me in this position, so deep, so perfect, made me gasp. I started to move, slow at first, rolling my hips, finding a rhythm that sent sparks through every nerve in my body.

"Joel," I whispered, my voice shaky as I leaned forward, my hair falling around us like a curtain. His hands tightened on my hips, guiding me, urging me faster, and the friction, the way he hit that spot inside me with every roll, was almost too much. His eyes never left mine, drinking in every move, every sound I made.

"So pretty right here," he growled, his voice thick with want. One hand slid up, cupping my breast, his thumb brushing my nipple, sending a jolt straight to my core that made my head tip back, a moan tearing from my throat. "That's it, babygirl. Just like that."

I moved faster. The pleasure was building again, coiling tight, and the way he watched me, the way he touched me, made me feel even better. I was unraveling him just as much as he was unraveling me.

His hips bucked up hard to meet my movements, each thrust pushing me closer to the edge, and I could feel him tensing beneath me, his breaths coming faster, rougher.

"Fuck" I gasped, my voice breaking as the pressure built, my hips grinding against him, chasing that release. "I'm so close—cum in me please. "

"Look at me," he said, his voice low, urgent, his hand sliding up to cup my face, pulling my gaze back to his. "Wanna see you."

I take his thumb into my mouth. Still staring right at him, keeping my pace and he kept his. He stared right back and touched every spot of me perfectly. It was too much. My orgasm hit like a storm, crashing through me, my body trembling as I clenched around him, crying out his name. My vision blurred, my hips stuttering, but Joel's hands kept me steady, guiding me through every wave, every shudder, until I was gasping, my body buzzing with aftershocks.

He wasn't far behind. His grip on my hips tightened, his fingers digging into my skin as he thrust up into me, hard, desperate. "Fuck," he groaned, his voice breaking, raw and wrecked. With one final thrust, he came, his release hot and overwhelming, filling me as his body tensed, a low, guttural moan spilling from his lips. The feel of him, the sound of him, sent a final shiver through me, my body collapsing against his chest, spent and trembling.

For a moment, we just lay there, both of us panting, his arms wrapping around me, holding me close. His lips brushed my temple, soft, almost tender, and it made my chest ache. I could feel his heartbeat under my cheek, steady but fast, and the weight of what we'd just done The warmth of his touch was a stark contrast to the raw intensity of moments ago.

I shifted slightly, my cheek still pressed to his chest, and felt the faint rumble of his breath as he exhaled. The room was quiet now, save for the soft creak of the house settling and the distant hum of the world outside. The amber glow from the lamp cast long shadows across the walls, making the space feel smaller, safer.

Joel's hand stilled on my back, and I felt him tilt his head to look down at me. "You still with me, babygirl?" His voice was low, rough from exertion, but softer now.

I nodded, my cheek brushing against his chest. "Yeah," I murmured, my voice hoarse, barely above a whisper. "I think so." His fingers resumed their slow path along my spine, and I melted into him.

I tilted my head to meet his gaze, and the way he looked at me, dark eyes soft but intense, searching made my breath catch. There was no wall there now, no guarded distance. Just Joel, raw and open, at least for this moment.

I reached up, tracing the line of his jaw with my fingertips, feeling the faint stubble under my touch. A small smile tugging at my lips.

His hand slid down to my hip, giving a gentle squeeze before he shifted beneath me. "C'mon, let's get you cleaned up."

I whined softly, not wanting to move, my body too comfortable, too sated. "Do we have to?"

"Yeah. Ain't leavin' you like this." His tone was firm but gentle, and before I could protest further, he eased me off his chest, his hands steady as he helped me sit up. The loss of his warmth made me shiver, and he pulled the covers over me. Like he knew exactly what I needed.

He stood, unbothered by his own nakedness, and I couldn't help but watch him. Broad shoulders, scarred skin, the way his muscles shifted as he moved. He grabbed an oversized shirt from the chair in the corner and pulled on a pair of boxers, then disappeared into the small bathroom off his room. I heard the faucet run, the soft clink of something being set down, and a moment later, he was back with a damp cloth in one hand and a glass of water in the other.

"Drink," he said, handing me the glass first. I took it, sipping slowly, the cool water soothing my parched throat. Joel sat on the edge of the bed, his eyes tracking my movements like he was making sure I followed through. Satisfied, he reached for me, his touch gentle as he nudged my legs apart. "Here, I got it."

My cheeks flushed, a mix of shyness and warmth at how attentive he was being. I nodded, letting him guide me to lie back against the pillows. The cloth was warm against my skin, and Joel's movements were careful, almost reverent, as he cleaned me up. His free hand rested on my thigh, grounding me, and the contrast of his rough calluses against my softness made my breath hitch.

"You don't have to do this, you know," I said softly, my voice barely audible. It felt intimate, vulnerable, in a way that was different from the heat of before. I was almost confused.

Joel's eyes flicked up to mine, and he shook his head, a small, stubborn frown creasing his brow. "I want to." His voice gruff. He finished cleaning me up, tossing the cloth into a hamper across the room. then grabbed the shirt he'd brought over and draped it over my shoulders.

I slipped my arms into the sleeves, the fabric soft and worn, smelling faintly of him. It was too big, the hem brushing my thighs, but it felt like a hug, like an extension of him. I knew I had my own pajamas but I liked these better.

He watched me for a moment, his expression unreadable, then stood and grabbed sweatpants from the dresser, pulling them on with a quick tug. "You hungry?" he asked, already moving toward the nightstand where his phone sat. I was a little too busy to think about food, but the mention made my stomach rumble. "Yeah, I could eat."

Joel's lips twitched, like he'd heard the growl. "Figured. I'm gettin' us some Chinese from this place down the street." He dialed the restaurant and spoke into the phone, his voice low and clipped as he placed the order lo mein, fried rice, and something with beef. It was such a normal thing, ordering takeout, but in this moment, in Joel's room, it felt like a luxury.

[that-smallinjured-bowylamb]

🌸Angel's GoodList🪽

Twisted W🪞nderland

🩷"Thy Destiny's Vanity..."🪽

Welcome to the Hall of Mirr🪞rs

Which mirror you'd like to enter?

Heartslabyul

Savannaclaw

Octavinelle

Scarabia

Pomefiore

Ignihyde

Diasomnia

Ramshackle

🩷🪽 Or would you hang out with the main cast outside at an event, dearest? 🩷🪽

Meeting up with TWST families

One event!!!

Multi Characters🌸🪽

Housewardens

🪽Heart of compassion, loyalty🪽 (-Kalim, +Jamil) continuation🪽

🪽Graceful figure to that of a doll, but he's willing to help you heal your broken parts🪽

🎀Vice-housewarden🎀

Nothing yet!

💘A beautiful, otherworldly prefect!?💘

Lethal Face-card???

Sing, MC.

♡He's My Man♡

Under Your Spell.

Unhealthy Obsessions

MY NAME IS BRUTUS.

Dark Red.

Creepy!Yuu and Victim!reader

Summary: this is to show that stalkers are not meant to be romanticize, it shows the reality of what could happen to a person being stalked, but nonetheless this was made by entertainment, so please, read at your own discretion.

Creepy!Yuu and Victim!reader concept

How the Twst Cast treats Yuu and you

Silver with Creepy!Yuu?

Question one

Question two

Question three

Question four <- another answer

Grim Question <- another Grim question <- Go, Grim!!!

Question six

Question seven

Scarabia's reaction to Y*u

Staff's reaction + Ramshackle's ghost's reaction to Y*u

Question eight

If reader overblots? <- 2nd answer <- 3rd answer <- 4th answer <- 5th answer

TWST family reaction?

Meme of creepy!Yuuniverse <- meme #2 <- meme #3 <- memes #4 <- meme #5 <- meme #6 <- meme #7

The relationship on Jamil with reader <- another answer

Tw: suici implications !!! Anyway, reaction of Jamil and Rook cuz my lazy ahh can't add anymore guys <- Tweels reaction <-

I think this counts as hcs for Yuu

Question nine

Twst Ocs w reader!!!

Question ten

Small comfort thought abt Jamil and Tweels

🪷🪷🪷🪷———🪷🪷🪷🪷

NRC vs RSA <- concept, continuation below:

[NATIONAL SHOWDOWN!]

[NATIONAL SHOWDOWN!] (Round 2😔)

🪷🪷🪷🪷———🪷🪷🪷🪷

💔They longed for you, but you waited for too long.💔

That warm touch he had never felt, that warm smile that had all the patience in the world, for him. He's sorry he made you wait. - [ft. Riddle Rosehearts, Cater Diamond, Leona Kingscholar, Ruggie Bucchi, Azul Ashengrotto]

🪷🪷🪷🪷———🪷🪷🪷🪷

🎀Let's go together! 【Picking a club】🎀

Episodes: One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, and more!

Topic discuss:

🪷🪷🪷🪷———🪷🪷🪷🪷

Writing in progress for more...

Awaiting AU!s...

🪷 "In another universe, we could have been..." 🌸 TWST!AU

Bestie!Yuu

🪷🪷🪷🪷———🪷🪷🪷🪷

Angel!reader

Scarabia, Pomefiore, Heartslabyul, Diasomnia, Octavinelle, Savannaclaw, Ignihyde, + staffs, side casts

🪷🪷🪷🪷———🪷🪷🪷🪷

Disorder!reader [You have a disorder, how will they treat you? <-Request me if I'm open!]

🪷🪷🪷🪷———🪷🪷🪷🪷

Asian!reader

🪷🪷🪷🪷———🪷🪷🪷🪷

Morute!reader

🪷🪷🪷🪷———🪷🪷🪷🪷

Dreaming Mary!reader

🪷🪷🪷🪷———🪷🪷🪷🪷

Weapon!reader

🪷🪷🪷🪷———🪷🪷🪷🪷

What if... the first years, second years, and third years all were in a horror game? (Ft. Yuu, Grim and reader)

🪷🪷🪷🪷———🪷🪷🪷🪷

Little nightmares!Yuu and Little nightmares!reader

🪷🪷🪷🪷———🪷🪷🪷🪷

God/dess!reader

🪷🪷🪷🪷———🪷🪷🪷🪷

What if reader had a boyfriend/girlfriend/partner and came to Twst?

🪷🪷🪷🪷———🪷🪷🪷🪷

What if... reader's emotions are based on the flowers that bloom around them [or on them]

🪷🪷🪷🪷———🪷🪷🪷🪷

Universal Love!reader (AKA. Reader is the Universe's favorite mortal and decides to just bend the law for their every whimsy)

2 Universal Love!reader

🪷🪷🪷🪷———🪷🪷🪷🪷

What if... Star Child!reader?

🪷🪷🪷🪷———🪷🪷🪷🪷

Mother of Magical girls!reader (Summerize: You are called "little mother" from every magical girl/boy/OC of your choosing, because 1. You maybe shorter than them or 2. You are younger than them but still hold a special power over them (aka, your OP)).

🪷🪷🪷🪷———🪷🪷🪷🪷

What if...? Persona Diary!reader [Summerize: Idk your a walking personified version of my Diary that I've forgotten long ago, ig. Like, your entire ass story is based off my Diary filled with my trauma or whatever I've experienced is called.]

🪷🪷🪷🪷———🪷🪷🪷🪷

"Do I wish to be pretty? Honestly, yes. But in a way where I'm still myself, and they stare at me with no judgment in their eyes.."

*•☆•°`|——|`°•☆●*

Aesthetics~`♡`

*•☆•°`|——|`°•☆●*

☆♡As Miss Beelzebub likes it♡☆

《\~`•*°Magical Girls*•`~°▪︎》

♡<CH0B1T>♡

🎀(^ ＾ω＾) –> Hello Kitty <- ( ´・∀・｀)🌸

¡¡¡Junji Ito!!!

☆Random Dumps☆

Offaeciant's wedding

Shuri Sugarcoat Truffle

[37sommz]

❁ : meeting myla . . .

✼. masterlist — taglist — request. ✼. genre: fluff. ✼. wc: 5.3k.

historic silverstone brings more than just a 4th place finish. silverstone is a crossroads with myla button on one side and michaela's parents on the other.

✼. warnings: single dad!jenson, meeting the parents, meeting his daughter, small child?

✼. notes: this is the result of that poll i put out a few weeks ago. myla is the absolute cutest, i love her your honor. jenson and michaela have been together for about 7 months at this point. i don't think i made that clear lol.

000.⠀⠀JULY 17, 2021    ›    Silverstone, UK.

Michaela leaned against the garage wall, her heart still racing from the final qualifying lap. Her helmet was held tightly in her grasp, the visor reflecting the bustling Silverstone paddock. She took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, trying to compose herself before facing the barrage of microphones and cameras that awaited her.

As she made her way over to the press pen, Beata quickly briefed her on McLaren's main press priorities for the race tomorrow. A reminder to keep quiet on the strategy, a recognition of the odds stacked against them despite her third-row start, and a quick wish of 'Buona fortuna' leaving her signature red lips.

Michaela nodded, a hint of exhaustion flashing in her eyes. She knew the drill. But for just a few more moments, she had more to think about than just the race. The journalists threw questions at her nonstop during their individual five minutes. She danced through each one with an ease she undoubtedly owed to her press officer. The usual questions about Lando were tucked in the flurry of questions about new upgrades and efficient wings. But she remained tight-lipped, knowing the drama that could unfold if she gave them anything to chew on.

As she answered the final journalist, her phone buzzed in her pocket. It was a text from Jenson, "Great job today sweetheart, can't wait to see you tomorrow." A smile ghosted her lips, and she quickly pocketed the phone before it could betray her. The press didn't need to know about them just yet.

Dinner with her parents that night was a whirlwind of questions about the race, the team's strategies, and, inevitably, her love life. She had been dodging the latter for a while now, but her mother was never one to resist the tempting question. "So, Courtney told me she knows the identity of this mystery man you're dating," Miriam said, her eyes twinkling mischievously. "Is it time we met him?"

Michaela took a sip of her wine, the rich flavor doing little to ease her nerves. "Actually, it is about time, I guess," she began, setting her glass down. "He's someone you've both heard of."

Her parents exchanged a look that was a mix of excitement and concern. "Jenson Button," she announced, watching their expressions closely.

Her father, Tobias, took a moment to digest the information before speaking. "So I've raised both of my daughters to exclusively date Formula 1 drivers?" He said, his voice a mix of surprise and good-natured disbelief. Michaela rolled her eyes as he laughed at his own joke.

"But he was World Champion in what year?" Miriam finally managed to say, the shock on her face was a stark contrast to the shy smile on her daughter's.

Michaela rolled her eyes with a playful smile. "Mum, don't start with the age thing."

Tobias took a sip of his drink, his expression contemplative. "2009, Michaela was 10," he said, setting his cup down. Miriam turned to look at her husband with an air of disbelief. Her brown eyes were wide again as Tobias simply stared at his coffee mug.

"But that means..." Miriam began.

Michaela cut her off gently. "He's only 19 years older than me. It's not that big of a deal, really," she said, hoping to ease their concerns.

Tobias' gaze lifted from his wife, his expression serious. "It is a big deal, Mouse. The man's in his 40s, and he's seen a lot in his time. Are you sure you know what you're getting into?"

Michaela's chest tightened. She knew her parents meant well, but she couldn't help feeling a spark of irritation. "Yes, Dad, I'm sure. We're both adults, and we care about each other."

Miriam reached across the table, her hand covering Michaela's. "We just don't want to see you hurt, or your career suffer because of a man," she said, her voice earnest.

Michaela nodded, her eyes flicking to her father's concerned face. "I know, Mum," she said, her voice soft. "But Jenson's different. He understands the sport, he understands the pressure I'm under." Michaela felt the tension in her neck and took a moment to compose herself before continuing. "We're just enjoying each other's company. It's good for me, good for him, good for my career."

Miriam leaned forward, her eyes sharp with disapproval. "But what happens when it's not just about fun anymore?" she asked, her voice gruff with concern. She huffed as she sat back in her seat, taking in Michaela's stubborn gaze.

Michaela sighed. "Look, I know he has a daughter, her name's Myla, and he has full custody," she said, her eyes darting between her parents. "And I'm not ready to be a mother right now, but Jenson's assured me that we're taking things slow."

Tobias' expression remained unchanged. "That's sweet, Mouse," he said, his voice softer. "But she's not just a part of the package. She's a whole new world to consider, Michaela. You're not just dating Jenson; you're dating his past, his future, his everything."

Michaela felt the weight of her father's words, but she wasn't ready to give in to their doubt. "I know, Dad," she replied, her voice firm. "But we're not rushing into anything. And if it's okay with you guys, I'd like you to meet him tomorrow."

Her parents exchanged a look, and she could see the unspoken conversation playing out between them. After a moment, Miriam spoke up. "We'd love to meet him, darling. We're here to support you, whatever happens," she said, giving her hand a squeeze.

Michaela's shoulders relaxed slightly at her mother's words. "Thank you, Mum, I appreciate you guys trying," she said, smiling genuinely. "He's actually covering the race for Sky Sports tomorrow, so he'll be around."

Tobias nodded slowly, his gaze lingering on his daughter. "Just remember, Mouse, we're not just worried about you. We're worried about his daughter too. She's a little girl with divorced parents, she's got enough drama going on in her life as it is," he said, his voice a gentle reminder of the gravity of the situation.

Michaela's eyes searched her father's, understanding his concern. "I know, Dad. And that's why we're taking it slow," she assured him. "I promise, I'll think about everything you've said."

The conversation shifted to safer topics, and the evening ended with the warmth of a family that had always supported each other through thick and thin. As the night grew later, and her parents retreated to their hotel room, Michaela found herself pacing the floor of her own room, the gravity of the day's events settling in. Her heart was a mix of excitement and anxiety as she dialed Jenson's number.

His voice was calm and steady, a balm to her nerves. "Hello, my love, how'd dinner go?" He asked, his voice filled with genuine concern.

Michaela took a deep breath and relayed the conversation, her voice a tapestry of emotions. She told him about her parents' excitement and their reservations about Myla. "They're worried, Jense," she said, her voice cracking slightly. "They don't want me to get hurt, or for you to get hurt again."

There was a brief pause on the line before Jenson spoke, his voice gentle. "They're just looking out for you like any good parents would," he said. "But, darling, you know I'd never push you into anything you're not ready for."

Michaela nodded, even though he couldn't see her. "I know," she murmured, feeling a lump form in her throat. "They just want to meet you, that's all."

"Well, I'd love to meet them," Jenson said. "But let's not overwhelm everyone at once, especially Myla. She'll be with me tomorrow. Maybe we could all grab dinner tomorrow night, after the race?"

Michaela thought for a moment before agreeing. "That sounds like a good plan," she said, a hint of relief in her voice. "They're staying just down the hall from me, so it'll be easy to find a place nearby."

Jenson chuckled. "Perfect. And if you want, I'll ask Myla if she's okay with it," he offered. "But let's not tell her you're my girlfriend yet. Maybe just say you're a friend."

Michaela's heart skipped a beat. "But what if she doesn't like me?" she whispered, the fear of rejection creeping in.

Jenson's voice was warm and comforting. "Michaela, she's already your biggest fan. Her eyes are glued to your car whenever we watch the races at home," he said with a laugh. "Trust me, she'll love you even more once she finally meets you."

Michaela felt a wave of reassurance wash over her. She had never felt so supported in a relationship before, and she knew she was lucky to have Jenson by her side. "Okay, I'll trust your judgment," she said, her voice a little lighter. "Just try to stay on my parents' good side, yeah?"

"I'll charm them like I charmed you," Jenson said with a playful wink she could almost feel through the phone.

Michaela chuckled, the tension in her shoulders loosening. "Please don't," she said, rolling her eyes. "You know I don't need the competition."

000.⠀⠀JULY 18, 2021    ›    Silverstone, UK.

The next day dawned with the promise of an exciting race, and as Michaela climbed into her McLaren, the dinner to come was the furthest thing on her mind. She pushed aside her pre-race nerves and focused on the wheel in her hands, the roar of the engines and the scent of fuel filling her senses.

Tire strategies played out like a chess match, with each pit stop a strategic move to gain the upper hand. Through it all, Michaela remained calm and calculated, her mind a melding of speed and precision. As the laps ticked down, she found herself in a fierce duel with Lando to hold on to her fourth place. She pushed her car to the limit, her heart pounding in her chest.

On the final lap, the team orders finally came through. Lando was to hold position behind Michaela and bring the cars home in 4th and 5th. As she took the checkered flag, the crowd erupted into thunderous cheers. The adrenaline rush washed over her, and she couldn't help but thank the team for their focus throughout the race.

After the post-race interviews, the paddock grew alive with excitement and fatigue. Drivers and teams mingled, sharing their experiences and strategies for the next race. Jenson, with Myla Button in tow, approached the McLaren hospitality suite. The little girl's eyes grew wide as she spotted the logos of the cars she had watched roar around the track just moments ago.

Myla Jane Button clutched her father's hand tightly, her eyes searching the sea of people for the one person she had talked about all weekend. "Daddy, where's your friend?" she whispered, her voice filled with anticipation.

Jenson glanced down at her with a smile, feeling a twinge of nerves. "Patience, darling," he said, leading her through the throngs of people. "She'll be out shortly."

Michaela emerged from the suite, her racing suit swapped for casual attire, her hair tied back in a loose ponytail. She spotted Jenson and Myla and her heart skipped a beat. The little girl looked so much like him, with the same piercing blue eyes, curly blonde hair, and mischievous smile. As she approached the two of them, she could see her parents approaching Jenson and Myla as well with adoring smiles on their faces.

Myla, yet to see her father's girlfriend from a distance, was busy introducing herself to Michaela's parents, her jaw dropping animatedly as they introduced themselves as the parents of her favorite driver. 

"We’re Michaela Sommers’ mummy and daddy," Miriam said, her voice filled with pride.

Michaela watched from afar, her heart fluttering as she saw the delight in her mother's eyes. She had always dreamed of this moment, her two worlds colliding in a perfect harmony of love and support.

As she drew closer, she could hear Myla's chatter about the race. Her enthusiasm was infectious, and it warmed her heart to see how much his daughter took after his kindness and joy. Jenson looked up and caught her gaze, his eyes lighting up. He whispered something into Myla's ear, and the little girl's eyes grew even wider. She turned to look at the approaching figure, her excitement unbridled.

Michaela's steps grew lighter as she reached them, a warm smile playing on her lips. Jenson introduced her as a friend and a fellow racer. "Jenson, these are my parents," she heard herself say, the words feeling oddly natural. "Mum, Dad, this is Jenson and his daughter, Myla."

Myla's eyes lit up like stars at the mention of her favorite driver's name. She shyly looked up at the taller woman of the two in front of her. "Hi," she whispered, her gaze flicking between the Sommers.

Michaela crouched down to Myla's level, her heart racing. "Hi Myla, I'm Michaela," she said, her voice gentle. "Your dad tells me you had a fantastic time watching the race."

Myla nodded, her eyes shining with excitement. "It was the best!" she exclaimed. "And I got to see you drive in real life!"

Michaela couldn't help but chuckle. "Well, I'm so excited to meet you," she said, holding out the signed cap she had brought for the little girl. "I heard you're my biggest fan."

Myla took the cap, her eyes wide with wonder. "Oh wow," she murmured, looking at it as if it were made of pure gold. "Thank you, Miss Michaela."

Michaela felt a surge of affection for the little girl. "You're welcome, Myla," she said, her voice filled with warmth. "But you can call me Michaela, like everyone else."

Myla looked up at her dad, seeking approval. Jenson's eyes met hers, and he gave a small nod of consent. "Okay, Michaela," Myla said, a smile playing on her lips.

Michaela's heart swelled. Every time she met a little girl who shared her excitement about racing, it reminded her of just how much her presence meant in the sport. She watched as Myla proudly put the cap on her head, the McLaren papaya orange standing out against her blonde hair. "So, what did you think of the race?" she asked, eager to keep the conversation flowing.

Myla's eyes sparkled as she began recounting the race's highlights. Her parents looked on, smiling at her passion. "It was so cool when you passed that one car," Myla said, her eyes shining with excitement. "You're so fast!"

Michaela felt her heart warm at the little girl's words. "Thank you, Myla. I try to be," she said, her voice sincere. She knew that she had to win over not just Jenson's heart, but Myla's as well. The seven-year-old was a direct line to Jenson's soul, and she didn't want to cause any pain or discomfort.

Her parents watched the interaction with a mix of curiosity and hope. They had heard so much about Jenson from the media, but seeing him with his daughter made their concerns seem less pressing. He was a good father, that much was clear, and if he treated Michaela with the same care and affection, they knew she would be in good hands.

Michaela felt the weight of their gazes and stood up, taking a deep breath. "So, dinner?" she suggested, her voice a tad louder than necessary to break the quiet moment. "Myla, would you like to come with us?"

Myla looked up at Jenson, her eyes wide. "Can I, Daddy?" she asked, those same blue eyes Michaela had come to know so well wide with excitement.

Jenson's smile grew, and he looked at her with a proud nod. "Of course, darling. If it's okay with everyone," he said, glancing at Miriam and Tobias who eagerly approved with warm smiles.

The restaurant they chose was a cozy Italian place, a favorite of Jenson's, which offered them a private booth to escape the prying eyes of the public. The air was thick with the aroma of garlic and tomato sauce, and the candles flickered gently, casting a soft glow across the table.

Myla sat between Jenson and Michaela, her eyes wide as she took in the new faces and the excitement of the evening. She had insisted on wearing the signed cap to dinner, which was met with smiles all around. The conversation flowed easily, with Jenson keeping a watchful eye on his daughter, making sure she felt included.

Michaela's parents, while still wary, were won over by Jenson's charm and his clear love for Myla. They pulled Jenson into a conversation of their own as Michaela kept Myla engaged to allow her boyfriend a chance to charm her parents. The little girl listened intently as they talked about the race, asking insightful questions that showed she had been paying attention to her father's commentary.

As the meal progressed, the conversation turned more serious, with Miriam expressing her concerns about the age gap and the potential impact on Myla. Jenson was honest and open, acknowledging his past mistakes and his commitment to prioritizing his daughter's happiness above all else.

"I've been through a lot, Miriam," he said, his gaze earnest. "But I've learned from my past. And if it means taking things slow with Michaela, then that's what I'll do. I won't let anyone, not even myself, disrupt Myla's life again."

Miriam's expression softened, and she reached out to pat Jenson's hand. "We just want what's best for her," she said, her voice gentle. "I'm sure you understand where we're coming from."

Jenson nodded, his eyes filled with understanding. "I do," he said. "And I promise, I'll do everything in my power to make sure she's happy and that she knows she's always a priority in my life."

Michaela's parents shared a look, their concerns slowly melting away. They had seen the love and dedication Jenson had for his daughter, and it was clear that he was a changed man from the one they had read about in the tabloids. "Thank you, Jenson," Tobias said, her voice warm. "That means a lot to us."

As the evening wound down, the conversation turned to more light-hearted topics. Myla giggled at a story Jenson told about a prank he had played on a fellow driver back in his Formula 1 days, and even Michaela's parents couldn't help but chuckle. It was moments like these that made the age gap seem almost non-existent, as they all connected over their shared love for the sport and the people in their lives.

The dessert menu was brought out, and Myla's eyes lit up at the sight of the gelato. "Daddy, can I have the mint chocolate chip?" she asked, her voice hopeful.

Jenson looked at her with a playful smile. "Only if you promise to eat all your veggies," he teased, and Myla huffed playfully before nodding vigorously as Jenson tickled her side.

Michaela felt a warmth spread through her as she watched the interaction. She had never seen this side of Jenson, the gentle, caring father. It was a stark contrast to the fiercely competitive driver she had seen on the track. As they ordered dessert, she couldn't help but feel a rush of something she hadn't felt in a long time: the possibility of a real future with someone who truly cared for her.

The gelato arrived, and as Myla eagerly dug in, Jenson leaned closer to Michaela. "So, what do you think?" he whispered, his eyes searching hers for reassurance.

Michaela met his gaze, her heart full. "They love you," she whispered back with a small smile. "And they see how much you love Myla."

Jenson's eyes searched hers, looking for the truth she held. "And you?" he asked, his voice barely audible above the hum of the restaurant. "Do you think you're ready for all this?"

Michaela took a deep breath, feeling the weight of his question. "I'm not sure," she admitted. "But I know I want to try."

The conversation was cut short as Myla squealed with laughter, her spoon flying through the air and landing on the floor with a clink. Jenson's eyes danced with mirth as he pretended to be shocked by her behavior, and the table erupted into laughter. Myla carefully squeezed past Michaela to retrieve the spoon before requesting polite permission from her father to wash the sticky gelato from her hands.

"Alright, go ahead," he said, his eyes following her as she skipped off to the bathroom.

The moment she was out of earshot, he turned back to the Sommers. "Look, I know the situation isn't ideal," he began, his voice serious. "But I want you to know that I'm not looking for anything to replace what I have with Myla. I just want to share my life with someone who makes me happy, and that's your daughter."

Tobias nodded, his gaze thoughtful.

Jenson took a deep breath, turning to look Michaela in the eyes. "Eventually we’ll get to the point where I'll sit down with Myla and explain everything. But until then, I think it's best if we just let her enjoy getting to know you as a person, not as her father's girlfriend."

Michaela nodded, understanding the delicacy of the situation. 

"We just want you to know that we support you, both of you, no matter what happens," Miriam said, her voice gentle. "Myla is precious, you’ve done a great job Jenson."

Michaela and Tobias both hummed in agreement as Jenson flushed in appreciation. In the lull of the quiet in Myla's absence, Michaela squeezed her boyfriend's hand before leaning over to press a chaste kiss to his lips. 

"Thank you, sweetheart. I'm glad my girls are getting along so well."

Myla returned, her cheeks still flushed from her rushed trip to the bathroom. She climbed back into the booth, her eyes flicking to the absence of space between her father and her new friend. She slid closer to Jenson, her curiosity piqued by the sudden affection between him and Michaela.

Michaela scooted away shyly, her cheeks reddening slightly. She cleared her throat, trying to ease the sudden tension that had bloomed between them. "So, Jenson," she said, her voice a little too bright. "You mentioned Myla's been watching my races. Does she have any tips for me?"

Jenson chuckled, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "Oh, she definitely has some advice," he said, ruffling Myla's hair. "But I'll let her tell you herself."

Myla looked up at her father, her eyes wide. "Well, Michaela," she began, the name becoming more comfortable on her tongue. "You should go even faster and win every race. That way, you can be the best!"

Michaela couldn't help but laugh at the simplicity of Myla's advice. "That's a big ask," she said, winking at the little girl. "But I'll do my best to make sure you're always proud of me."

Myla beamed, her cheeks pinking up. "You will," she said confidently, her voice filled with the innocence of a child who believes in the boundless capabilities of her heroes.

Michaela felt a pang of something unfamiliar stir within her. The weight of Myla's belief in her was surprisingly heavy, a reminder of the stakes of not only her relationship but also her career. She looked at Jenson, who was watching her with an encouraging smile, and she knew she had to try, for them both.

The rest of the dinner passed in a blur of laughter and shared stories. Myla had endless questions about the industry and the cars, and both Jenson and Michaela were more than happy to answer, their voices filled with the same excitement they had felt during the race itself. Myla's eyes grew heavy with sleep, her head slowly dropping onto her father's shoulder.

"Looks like someone had a big day," Jenson said with a gentle smile, stroking her hair.

Michaela felt a tug at her heart as she watched the tender scene unfold. "How about we get going?" she suggested, standing up. "It's late, and she's had a lot of excitement."

Jenson nodded in agreement, gently lifting Myla into his arms. "Thank you for a lovely evening," he said to her parents, his eyes warm. "I hope we can do this again sometime soon. With or without this little one."

Miriam and Tobias stood, eyes kind. "We'd like that," she said, reaching out to stroke Myla's cheek. "Goodnight, sweetie."

"Night, Michaela's mummy and daddy," Myla mumbled, already half asleep.

Michaela felt her heart jump at the casual endearment. She walked alongside Jenson as they left the restaurant, carrying a sleeping Myla. The cool evening air was a welcome relief after the warmth of the dinner, and the sounds of the bustling city outside were muted by their conversation.

"Thank you for being so sweet," Jenson said, his voice low. "I know it wasn't easy for you."

Michaela nodded her eyes on the sleeping girl. "No, it wasn't," she admitted. "But she's amazing, Jense. I can see why you're so protective."

Jenson kissed the top of Myla's head. "She's my world," he said simply. "After the divorce, I fought so hard to keep her happy and stable. I don't want to do anything to mess that up."

Michaela nodded, understanding all too well the gravity of the situation. "We won't," she assured him, her voice firm. "I'll do everything I can to support both of you."

They walked in companionable silence to Jenson's car, the cool night air a stark contrast to the warmth of the restaurant. As they approached, Myla stirred in Jenson's arms, rubbing her eyes sleepily. "Can Michaela ride back to the hotel with us?" she mumbled, her voice small and tired.

Michaela and Jenson exchanged glances, both feeling the weight of the question. It was a step they hadn't anticipated, and one both of them weren't sure was wise to take considering the information they had withheld from her at this point.

"Actually, I have to ride back with my mum and dad," Michaela said softly, not wanting to overstep. "But I'll see you both soon, okay?"

Myla nodded, still groggy, and gave her a sleepy wave. "Bye, Michaela," she murmured before her eyes drooped shut again.

Michaela felt a pang of regret as she watched Jenson tuck Myla into the back seat. She knew that she had made the right decision to not reveal their relationship just yet, but it was difficult to hide something so significant from such an astute little girl. With Myla drifting off into sleep, Jenson stood to his full height, studying the longing in Michaela's expression.

"We're going to be okay," he whispered, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. "This was a great first step."

Michaela nodded, her eyes still watching Myla's peaceful face. "I know," she said, her voice filled with hope. "It's just hard to keep secrets from her. She's so perceptive."

"We'll tell her when the time is right," Jenson assured her, his hand giving her shoulder a gentle squeeze. "For now, let's just enjoy what we have without the added pressure. The last thing I'd want is to ruin this for any of us, and tonight confirmed that I picked the right woman for this journey."

Michaela's heart swelled with love and hope. She nodded in agreement before leaning in to give him a kiss goodbye. "Thank you for being so patient with me," she said, her voice a soft whisper. "I know I'm... younger. But, I do love you."

Jenson returned the kiss, his eyes filled with affection. "And I love you too," he said. "Now go get some rest. I'll call you tomorrow?"

Michaela nodded, watching as Jenson drove away. She took a deep breath, feeling a mix of excitement and nerves. The evening had gone better than she could have imagined, and she was grateful for her parents' openness to meeting Jenson and Myla.

The drive back to her parent's hotel was quiet, both her mother and father were lost in their own thoughts. Tobias spoke first a few minutes into the drive, breaking the silence. 

"He seems like a good man, Miri," he said, his eyes observing the twinkle of the stars.

Miriam nodded, her eyes on her daughter. "He does," she said. "And Myla is a lovely girl. I can see why you're smitten."

Michaela couldn't help but smile at her mother's words. "I know it's a lot to take in," she said. "But I promise, I'm going to handle it as best I can."

Miriam reached over the seat to squeeze her shoulder. "We know you will, honey," she said. "We just want to make sure you're happy and that you know we're here to support you."

Tobias spoke up once more, his tone cautious as he broached the worry again. "But you do know you don't have to rush into anything, right?" he asked. "You've got your whole life ahead of you, and we don't want you to sacrifice your career or happiness for someone else or their kid for that matter."

Michaela nodded, feeling the weight of her father's words. "I know, Dad," she said softly. "But I can't help but feel like... this could be it. Like, this is what I've been waiting for."

Tobias met her eyes in the rearview mirror. "Just remember to be true to yourself, Mick," he said. "You're still young, and you've got so much ahead of you. Don't let anyone, not even someone you love, dictate your path."

Michaela nodded solemnly, taking in her father's advice. She knew her career was her priority, but she couldn't deny the joy Jenson and now, potentially, Myla brought to her life. As they pulled up to the hotel, she turned to her parents in the backseat. "Thank you for meeting them," she said, her voice filled with genuine gratitude. "It means a lot to me."

Miriam leaned over to kiss her cheek. "We just want what's best for you," she said. "But we can see that he makes you happy, and that's all that matters."

Michaela felt a warmth spread through her as she pulled the car around to the front of the hotel, allowing her parents the chance to exit before she pulled off to the garage to find parking. As she stepped out into the cool night air, she couldn't shake the feeling that she was standing at a crossroads. Her heart was full, but her mind raced with the potential complications of her intensifying relationship with Jenson and her blossoming bond with Myla.

Inside the hotel, she made her way to her room, her thoughts swirling. She knew her parents had her best interests at heart, but she also understood that the path she was choosing was not a conventional one. Her career was on the rise, and she had worked tirelessly to get where she was. Introducing a serious relationship and a child's feelings into the mix was something she had never anticipated.

Michaela's phone buzzed with a message from Jenson, asking if she had made it back safely. She replied with a simple heart emoji, unable to fully express the whirlwind of emotions she was experiencing. As she stepped into her hotel room, the quiet solitude allowed her thoughts to race impossibly faster. The potential future she had glimpsed during dinner was both tempting and daunting.

Her mind kept returning to Myla, her bright blue eyes and infectious enthusiasm. The idea of being a stepmother was one she had never seriously considered, but the ease with which she had interacted with the young girl tonight had planted a seed of curiosity in her heart. Was she ready for the responsibility and the joy that came with it? Michaela tossed and turned in bed that night, unable to find a comfortable position as the weight of the evening's events pressed down on her dreams. She thought of Jenson's reassurances, his love for Myla, and his commitment to making sure she felt included in their lives. It was clear that she had made an impact on the little girl, and that was something she could not ignore.

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